


M2 - Loghain

by CreativeLiterature



Series: Medieval Simulation [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Final Fantasy VIII, Game of Thrones (TV), The Tudors (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Self-Insert, Sex, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 28,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28562751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeLiterature/pseuds/CreativeLiterature
Summary: To try and learn from their mistakes, five people live out their medieval fantasies within a simulated environment, drawing from multiple fandoms. Explicit violence, language, sex scenes.
Relationships: Alistair (Dragon Age)/Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character/Thomas Wyatt, Squall Leonhart/Original Female Character(s), Zevran Arainai/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Medieval Simulation [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2092293
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

Adam, Clara, Max, Grace and Zoe decided to enter the combined medieval lands of Skyrim, Witcher 3, Dragon Age and so on. They had tested the waters in a simulation where Grace had risen from modest landowner to Queen, Clara had been dethroned of her lofty position and brought before the court as brother of the criminal overlord Max who had fallen for Maria right before an aristocrat paid off the Crows to report the link to the King. With seconds to spare, Zoe the magician used mind control to force the nobleman to confess his grave error and kill Alistair in the process, allowing Grace to take the throne. Clara went south with Zevran in the forest, while Zoe helped Max escape through the bars of his cell so that he might escape the kingdom’s justice.

Now things were different. Clara still enjoyed Zevran’s company, but being a prettied lady in a chateau without a moat displeased her. She wanted her own army, loyal to a fault and a secluded castle where no one could arrest her. Max wanted to be King, with Maria at his side so no one could strike down his rule or his activities. Grace wanted to be Princess, but that meant becoming Max’s daughter, so she eschewed that idea and decided she wanted to be the Lady of the land so that she could bestow bountiful gifts and harvest upon the citizens, and travel into the city to help the poor and needy get back on their feet. Zoe wanted to be the court magician, openly studying the lore of witchcraft but privately a spy to dispel collusion and riots so that the kingdom would not unseat its occupiers. Adam wanted to be the court scribe, the official notary writing the documents forming the kingdom’s rule and dealing with the king’s justice in Max’s stead while he partied with Maria and found other women to busy his time.

“I don’t want anybody arresting me,” mused Clara, on her parting shot. “I want to be all by myself. But maybe with Zevran nearby.”

“I want to rule the whole fucking kingdom!” cheered Max, arms in the air. “Give me Maria and a hundred women and I’m set.”

“I want to help people,” Grace demurred, meaning it.

“I want to help my friends,” said Adam, about being a court scribe. “And ensure everyone knows Max’s in charge, as are the others.”

“What do you think?” said Zoe with beady eyes. “Ensure no chaos comes of the townsfolk. They better know their place.”


	2. Chapter 2

KING Max

Max sat smugly on his throne as the crown was placed atop his head, with the scepter and orb in either hand to denote his absolute position as ruler of the kingdom.

“I anoint you…” spoke the priest, in gilded robes nondescript compared to those worn by Max. “King.”

As he rose, the assembly of people rose and clapped for their King, beaming churlishly for all to see. Clara, wearing a tightly corseted red gown stitched with gold and her blonde hair tied into a chignon, watched with a moue of disapproval as every man in the crowd and rafters surrounding the room, be they husbands or aristocrat youth or court scribes found it hard to keep their eyes off the loveliest woman in the realm, though her stark beauty paled in comparison to Lady Grace’s warmth and buoyance, her sweet-tempered nature though she was anything but a prize to be won. Charitable and forthcoming she was the kindly sister an older brother might look after… speaking of, Duke Adam stood amidst the procession as Max’s closest friend, wearing a stitched doublet and clapping his hands as he wondered how quickly Max would cheat on his wife, Maria who was soon to be Queen in a separate ceremony.

The royal procession continued through the halls of the castle and out of the great doors into the courtyard, where the common rabble and townsfolk assembled to eagerly see their King. Max grinned at the pomp and circumstance, himself not an effete man though he wore enough finery with the glinting crown atop his head and orb and scepter in either hand to look at once the supreme leader.

“King! King Max! Your Majesty!” they cried out.

Max grinned again, handed the orb and scepter to a pair of gold-plated guards and offered a wave of approval before departing inside, followed by his court procession.

PRINCESS ROYAL Clara

After the procession had died down, Clara found the castle stables and saddled her horse, having donned a forest green tunic and bow with a quiver of arrows over her back, leather boots and her hair tied in a ponytail. Alongside her rode four of her mounted bodyguard, the Crows to whom they owed their absolute allegiance as she was the founding member. Spread out in sects throughout the kingdom not only for her discretion but to instigate attacks against usurpers dining in secret, the Crows were Clara’s personal army, a band of thieves and rogues who knew no higher calling than archery and the subtleties of stealth.

“Come on,” said Clara, droll. “I want to reach the castle before nightfall.”

Kicking her horse in the side, the palomino courser cantered through the city with its four mounted escorts at its side. Clara rode past two-storied latticed mansions where only the elite lived alongside cocky sons and eligible daughters, through the gates to where the shops and market sprawled out in several directions, down the docks where large ships brought in shipments of trading resources so that the kingdom might flourish and the king’s taxes grow ever fuller, avoiding the poorer part of the city where the ruined wood houses and brothels catered to the danker parts of the people’s appeals.

Clara rose furiously across one of the bridges across a gaping moat which led out of the castle’s walls, out onto the land where esteemed chateaus and country homes were in splendour beside forests of magnitude holding wolves and rabbits and berry bushes.

They came across a small town with an inn and few houses, with a steep track leading up to the lord’s home who was in charge of this particular settlement. Dirt-faced children glanced up from picking potatoes to glance at the blonde woman astride her courser, looking neither left not right for she gave no care for the people who had so roundly thrown her asunder in the last simulation, though they had no memory of that. Beside her sat four Crows with bows at the ready, in hooded garb with the Crow sigil upon their back.

At once, the villagers craned their neck from cooking pots or shaking out rugs for they recognised the woman rider as the King’s sister, the leader of the Crows and a sight for sore eyes in this part of the kingdom east of the city.

“My lady!” the rotund innkeeper bowed before her, as did all the villagers in sight, though the children couldn’t help but glance up out of curiosity. Not a few of the boys and youthful men could keep from staring once they had risen for neither the sun nor the moon could mar her starkly appealing beauty.

“What?” Clara shot a glance at them and they faltered. She dismounted and handed the reins to a stable boy who darted out of sight. “Who is the lord of this village?”

“M-my lady?” the innkeeper mopped his sweating brow. “He is at his cottage. We have sent one of the local boys to fetch him…”

“Whatever. I don’t care,” Clara strode into the inn, matching glances with the armored knights who regularly patrolled the counties and had stopped for a quick break. “You. Aren’t you supposed to be on duty?”

Immediately they clanked down the visors of their helmets, gripped their scabbards and hurried off, eager to escape the wrath of the King’s sister. Clara took a table closest to a pair of open windows, while the innkeeper approached with a tarnished serving platter of blackberry pie and ripe peaches while a tavern wench busied herself with pouring the Lady wine into a chipped goblet.

“Where is Zevran?” asked Clara, as she invited her Crows to sit at the same table, though they didn’t dare sit on the same side for fear of provoking her ire. “Is he waiting at the castle?”

“He is, your Grace,” said the Crow, who though scarred from a childhood battle and toughened the way rogues often are, was still scared of this no-nonsense madam who cared little for proprieties and even less for inefficiency. “Shall I send a rider ahead?”

“No,” Clara tore off a slice of bread presented before her and lathered it with butter. She glanced out the window where they still had a few hours to ride. “Is the castle prepared for my arrival? I want to go straight to sleep when I arrive, I’m exhausted.”   
“I expect so, your Grace,” said the Crow, glancing uneasily at his comrades.

Though the Crows were Clara’s personal army, it was the servants who did the cooking and cleaning around the castle, often uneasy for they had never lived in a castle like this one, as unprepared as any could be to sleep so close to the stars…

“Let’s go,” Clara swung her leg off the bench and immediately headed for the door, as one of her Crows flicked a gold coin towards the innkeeper who bowed in joy, as did the assembly of villagers who bade her goodbye.

Clara mounted her courser and headed further east down the valley, closely followed by her Crows galloping on either side, towards a steep edge where the rush of a waterfall could be heard. On either side of them were trees, marked with the Crow symbol to ward off would-be attackers and moonlight shone upon them, glinting their horses with an ethereal glow as the five riders felt their charges change shape.

“Aaaah!” cried Clara, as at the last second her courser grew wings not unlike a Pegasus and took off into the sky, as did the four riders beside her. Wind cutting at her face she glanced nervously back for they had left behind the land and headed instead for the stars, up into the night sky where clouds soon buffeted them and their Pegasi suddenly knew where to go, into the warm, slightly damp embrace of a cloud and suddenly it was before them, the Lunar Castle atop clouds where a kingdom seemed to shift out of the mist, decorated with cherry blossom trees in the groves and a towering castle beyond its midst.

“Jeez,” Clara was aching all over, both from stress and the exhausting ride it had taken to reach her. “I need a bath.”

She dismounted her Pegasi who stood at silent guardians, at the peak of her land which stretched upon the clouds like an abyss, too remote to be glimpsed from the ground below. Like a chunk of earth hovering in the sky, Clara traveled under maple trees too high to reach as cowering servants draped in silks bowed on their knees with their heads to the dewdrop grass, as Clara strode past them while her Crows looked about anxiously, realising the advantage of a hidden city in the sky but all too scared of mortal wound if it were to suddenly fall and crash upon the ground.

Clara felt no such fear, however. It was not long before she reached the apex of her cloud city, the castle whose towers spiraled amidst the background of clouds beyond and rose the steps, greeted by statue warriors who descended from their plinths to offer a tightly clenched fist to their chests in salute before returning to their place, suddenly still. Clara was greeted in the main reception hall by her ladies-in-waiting, who shivered despite the cold and relieved her of her burdens, while the Crows dispersed to their quarters in the lower depths of the castle. Clara continued on, up into her private chambers where a hot bath had been drawn with scented candles, while the bay doors leading to the balcony had been left open to invite a breeze which fluttered the silk canopy of the bed facing the clouds beyond.

“Have Zevran meet me in half an hour,” she told her ladies-in-waiting, and they bowed and scurried off to close her bedroom doors behind them.

Alone at last, Clara cleansed herself in the bath and emerged in a silk robe that did little to remove the chill from her skin. Up high in the clouds she was unlikely to find heat, but at least she would be safe and protected no matter how much damage Max did to the kingdom below.

“My love,” came the accented voice of Zevran.

Clara spun around to see the blonde elf wearing leather jerkins, kneeling at once to kiss her hand.

“You don’t have to do that,” Clara removed her hand from his grasp and headed towards the balcony, turning to him.

“Do what? Kiss you or love you?” Zevran flirted naughtily.

Clara pursed her lips and placed a hand on the railing, glancing below. It was a terrifying height at which to live, even if the large castle precipitated the belief that she couldn’t really be in the clouds because then she was on another, smaller planet within a planet, hovering harmlessly in the clouds, never to fall…

“What would you do if I fell?” asked Clara, droll.

“I would catch you, my love,” said Zevran, assured. “Or we would fall into the never ending night as one.”

Clara raised her eyebrows, glancing away. Zevran made a move to kiss her, but never made it. She merely moved across her bedchamber and into gentled sleep, while Zevran kept watch on a chair nearby.


	3. Chapter 3

DUKE Adam

“You eat a lot,” commented Adam, tasting the rhubarb pie which had been cooked to perfection.

“You don’t eat enough,” grinned Max, stuffing a chicken wing in his gullet.

Nearby were courtiers and serving boys, bodyguards in gold plated armor to attend to every need the King might want. Maria had been crowned Queen the day after Max had been crowned King, and was currently in an atelier boutique having her own clothing collection made specifically for her, with low-cut bodices and hems to flash her decolletage and legs.

“How’s Maria?” Adam asked.

“She’s great,” Max grinned, with a knowing look in his eye.

“Oh,” said Adam, slightly discomfited. “Just don’t catch any STDs.”

“Maria’s clean! She wouldn’t cheat on me!”

“I mean when you whore around elsewhere.”

“I have them all checked. I don’t want to get crabs again,” said Max.

A courtier entered to the side with a lute, strumming his tune and filling the room with gentle music. A fire raged in the grate warming the cool afternoon while soldiers greatswords clinked in their golden gauntlets. Servants scurried to and fro to deliver dishes on time and pour wine into goblets. Courtiers took note of every opportunity to please their betters and usurp their peers for favourite in the realm.

“Are you going to have children?” Adam asked, spearing another piece of rhubarb pie.

“Maybe,” Max shrugged. “If I do, I want a boy to pass the crown onto. And to teach him sword fighting and jousting.”

“Will you joust?” asked Adam. “Heavens knows there’s enough money in the treasury to spend on a tournament.”

“Yeah,” Max’s face brightened, standing suddenly to use the chamberpot in the corner while everyone politely averted their eyes. When he had returned to the table, he said, “I want the best in the land. The winner will become one of my personal bodyguards.”

Max’s eyes widened in churlish glee as a serving girl presented him with a plate of caramel chocolate pie. He slapped her on the ass and she fled, half delighted half nervous as she scurried back into the kitchen to hear the chef’s insistent flayings.

“She’s a babe,” Max dug out a sizeable portion only to dig into it with legendary gusto. “Why don’t you find a girl?”

Adam shifted on his seat very slightly. “You know, I’m - “

“A man?”

At this, the courtier’s eyes moved back and forth from the king to the duke in rapid succession like watching a joust between two contenders about to crash.

“Maybe,” said Adam, averting his gaze from the curly haired lute player in the corner whose eyes lowered gracefully with a half-hidden smile on his face.

LADY Grace

“Thank you, my lady,” bowed the woman in front of her, wearing peasant clothing but with a kindly face through the wrinkles that spoke of a harsh life. She bowed as did all the peasants in the orphanage, while the children glowed with contentment for the treasure chests Grace had bought contained food and toys and books so that the children might learn while they waited for families to take them in.

“Where are we going now?” asked Grace, to her sole lady-in-waiting who acted as personal secretary rather than glorified dressmaker.

“There’s a homeless shelter in the eastern part of the city,” said the secretary.

Grace moved with her entourage down alleyways where two storied houses looked down on her, blocks of wood plastered over crumbling windows and barefoot children hurrying down alleyways lest they be caught.

By her side stood several of the King’s guard, gold plated soldiers gripping greatswords and wearing helmet visors over their stern faces, while her secretary, in a light blue gown with plaited brown hair, looked around nervously wearing sandaled feet.

Grace approached the homeless shelter, entering inside where beggars and peddlers huddled against the warmth of barely lit fireplace grates, a bedraggled serving woman corralled the hungry along a wooden bench spoiled with food stains to feed them broth from the leftovers of the king’s coronation feast. They noticed Grace’s entourage approaching and stood warily, knowing to bow yet they had lost so much and been forgotten for so long this was quite a mirage for them, and they trembled.

“My Lady Grace,” the serving woman swept an awkward curtsey, lip trembling. “Is there something we can do for you today?”

“I’d like to help you,” said Grace, gesturing to the soldier who brought forth a trunk and several willing volunteers of her own household to begin setting up superior materials and implements with which to begin feeding, clothing and housing those without help. “There is more than enough food for everyone, clothes and bedding to sleep in.”

“Thank-thank you, my lady,” the serving woman’s eyes filled with tears. All who were nearby bowed as low as they could, despite aching bones and terrible illnesses ravaging their pox-scarred faces. A physician hurried out of Grace’s entourage to begin attending to the needs of the many. Later on, Grace took her entourage back to the castle.

“Is it helping them?” asked Grace, uneasy as she ascended the steps into the great hall where courtiers bowed and guards nodded in affirmation.

“Absolutely, my Lady!” nodded a grave official who had been the king’s representative to record these selfless acts so that he could disseminate them throughout the kingdom. “You have done much to give to those who have so little. You will be revered throughout the land as a most kind and gracious Lady.”

“Really…” Grace said, more of doubt for herself than skepticism. It had been enjoyable to help people even if they were in a simulation. “Tell me if they get into trouble. I don’t want people to suffer here.”

“Yes, my lady. At once.”

At length, the entourage dispersed as Grace rose the stairs and traveled winding corridors to her private quarters in the castle, where the doors were closed behind her as bodyguards silently flanked them outside. Inside, Grace’s lady-in-waiting helped her undress while a hot bath steamed in the ensuite, maids having been alerted to Lady Grace’s arrival and fleeing prior to her entrance.

Grace changed into a midnight blue satin dress, touring the castle as she inspected the inner courtyard abundant with flowers where she admired the tree standing tall amidst such glorious architecture as the castle in which she stood. She found hidden passageways leading to where courtiers and other court officials of rank had their living quarters, ascending higher still to where Adam’s living quarters were on a slightly lower level than that of Max’s, and reaching the tallest canopy tower in the castle where she could see all of the city in a 360 degree view, while her handmaiden stood silently nearby, ready to wait on Grace hand and foot.

“What’s your name again?”

“Mira, my lady,” the handmaiden curtseyed most properly.

“Do you know many of the people at court?” asked Grace.

“Some, my lady. It can be hard to keep track of them all. Whom were you looking for?”

“Do you know a guy called Alistair?”

“Why yes, my lady,” smiled Mira. “Alistair is the first born son of a nobleman at court. Very likely he’d be looking for a wife to take his family name. Are you…?”

Grace smiled nervously. “Maybe. I’d like to meet him first.”

“I will have it done, my lady,” smiled Mira, holding her hand and pressing it in warmth.


	4. Chapter 4

Zoe

Atop her tower in the castle she looked out on the city at night, her quarters accessible through a hidden passageway that only she knew about and likely no-one else could fathom to find. She had countless robes of black lined with red, some official with the kingdom’s sigil to denote that she belonged at court by the king’s side. But her task was to strike down would-be usurpers and riots which threatened the stability of the kingdom and its rule of the land.

“What is it?” Zoe barked to the man who appeared out of shadow through the arrow slit window behind her.

“Pardons,” spoke the hooded man who wore no ornament or filigree to denote who he served. He had learned very quickly not to refer to his master as ‘my Lady’. “I have returned from supervising the masses. I have a full report.”

“And?” Zoe did not turn around, preferring to listen.

“They seem to accept King Max well now that he has been crowned. Though he does not hide his whoring, he provides a bounty for all to enjoy and he is a bawdy character, relatable to the common tavern inhabitant who would do the same. Indeed, the king is sly and not an ineffective ruler. For all intents and purposes he is just another power-mad king, yet none have seen him wield it for there is no open rebellion which he could easily stamp out.”

“Very well. And the others?” asked Zoe.

“Lady Grace has taken it upon herself to help the poor and needy, greatly benefiting their cause for now there are greater opportunities for them to learn and rise. That part of the city is slowly becoming more developed, and schools are more accepting of beggar children now they have bathed their ashy faces and can spell their own name.”

“As for Duke Adam, he settles court matters whenever Max is not around. He speaks in place of the king, but relies on advisors for support though since we are in peaceful times there is but the question of how many taxes to levy and what to spend the bountiful surplus upon. The Duke is hosting a tournament in King Max’s honor, with the prize going to the winner as being in the King’s personal bodyguard.”

“Whoever wins will need to be closely watched at first,” Zoe began. “Make no mistake, we are in peace now, but anyone can imagine themselves in power if they are close enough.”

“Yes, Blade.”

“What about Clara?” Zoe turned to face her hooded compatriot. “How is life in the sky?”

“As of yet… we have found no discernible way to enter the Cloud City. It is but a myth on the people’s lips, yet some say they have glimpsed Lady Clara riding west for the forest yet there is no trace of inhabitation. The dullards suggest she sleeps in the trees or underground with her Crows. But there have been sightings of winged horses - Pegasi - flying ever higher out of sight to the clouds. Not a Crow I followed could be investigated without suspicion.”

“Well that’s hardly surprising, is it? She’s chosen a place in the sky so nobody can follow her. She wants her peace.”

“Yes, Blade. Was there anything more you wanted from me?”

“Ensure you report any activity of rioting to me. I won’t see the King dethroned, nor his royal subjects. Not like last time.”

DUKE Adam

Adam walked about the tourney grounds, ensuring every last piece was in place. Servants moved back and forth with the efficiency of the city guard directing their movements, erecting viewing stalls so that the aristocrats could fan themselves underneath shade while the royal stalls had two thrones for the King and Queen to sit upon.

“Is there anything else, Your Grace?”

Adam ran a critical eye over the supervision of the construction, ensuring that nothing was out of place. Suitably appeased, he shook his head while his entourage scurried from view and he walked through the city, attended closely by his gold-plated bodyguards who watched everything that moved through the visor of their helmets.

He wore a gilded doublet with a dagger at his side, and a golden amulet around his neck that had cost a pretty penny. As a Duke and the second-in-charge of the kingdom, he enjoyed the luxuries second only to the King and Queen, though he was a simple man and did not need much to enjoy this, the time of now, where he could be of best aid to his friends in this mighty kingdom.

He stopped at an inn in the wealthier district of the city and ate dinner alongside rarefied patrons who greeted him by his title and shook his hand, but Adam noticed they did not introduce their daughters as was custom.

“Can I ask you something?” Adam turned to one of his bodyguards, who stepped forward with a clanking clamour to bend down, the better to listen to his liege.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Ensuring he was not overheard, Adam whispered, “I have a feeling it’s gotten out that - well - ”

The bodyguard hesitated for a second. “You are correct, Your Grace. Word has been spreading rapidly throughout the kingdom ever since your meeting with His Majesty.”

“Oh. I see,” Adam sipped his wine, glancing around at the room full of off-duty courtiers romancing aristocrat third born daughters or seventh born cousins, noticing a bard playing in the corner and with a leap in his heart recognised him as the same lute player from when he had dined last with Max. His hair was brown and curly, his eyes soft and gaze gentle as he concentrated on plucking the final string of his lute before adjourning up the stairs.

“Excuse me, would you? I need to use the washroom,” Adam rose from the table, heading across the room in what he hoped was a subtle matter but with at least two bodyguards following his walk across the room made more than a few heads jump up in surprise for it was not many aristocrats who entertained company with royal soldiers as their companions.

Adam entered the small bathroom through a red curtain over an archway, noticing the open window opposite and the mirrors above a sink to his right while to his left two chamber pots stood unused while the third was occupied by the lute player whose legs were spread, his gaze and aim directly below his feet.

One bodyguard remained in the corridor while the other stayed inside, his gaze turned to the window yet his eyes narrowed on the singer, for he had heard tales of musical men secretly being spies, notwithstanding his supreme orders to protect the King’s best friend.

Adam stood at the chamber pot beside the lute player, unlacing his breeches and keeping his gaze steady though he found it wavering when the lute player shook himself and headed towards the sink. He left through the curtain before Adam had finished, washing his hands in the sink and heading back into the dining hall, where the lute player was nowhere to be found. Adam paid the innkeeper who accepted the payment with a flourish and a bow, headed out into the cobblestoned alleyways where he ascended into the courtyard where the tournament preparations had erected several structures about the place.

In the faint breeze there was the scent of freshly baked bread from the stores in the market, along with poppyseed and gardenia planted in seminal rows by crafty gardeners. Laborers hurried to and fro erecting the structures necessary for the tournament. He continued on to the castle where he entered the great hall and was met by a number of courtiers and court officials of rank.

“Your Grace,” Adam’s valet hurried to assist him, with all the eyes of court upon him for serving the second-in-command was a great honor bestowed upon him. “Welcome back to the castle. Your rooms are prepared and lunch is served.”

“Thank you. See that my sister Lady Grace is invited to a dinner I wish to hold tonight. I’ll want good food, fine wine and music in the background.”

“Certainly, my lord,” said the valet, hurrying beside Adam as he walked up the stairs and through the maze of corridors through which sunlight poured from arrow slit windows, heavy oak doors were closed upon meeting of importance and the sound of dishes clanking came from the scullery through an ajar door which a serving boy closed quietly behind him. “I will have it organised at your behest.”

Adam stopped suddenly, turning to the bodyguard whom had been present with him in the inn’s bathroom. “This soldier here will help you find the lute player I have in mind. He was in attendance at the last dinner held in His Majesty’s private quarters.”

“O-of course, your Grace,” bowed the valet, who found royal orders astounding and impossible to conceive, for often they were difficult to fulfill on vague notice. “Entrust your burdens to me, and you shall receive.”

Adam swept off without a backward glance, looking forward to an afternoon nap with his bodyguards following in tow, save for one who lingered behind to talk with the valet.


	5. Chapter 5

Clara

Clara stood atop the balcony, not the one which formed part of her private quarters but was a viewing gallery for the lush cherry blossom trees which sprouted tall above the verdant gardens sprawling beneath, paved paths snaking their way this way and that to small huts where the servants lived when the moon shone brighter and closer than they ever thought possible, living this close to the sky.

She wore a silk toga with her hair loose around her shoulders, light freckles on her bare arms with goosebumps dotted on her skin for even during the day where the sun beamed its hottest, the winds up here were faint but colder. It made sense to wear lighter clothing, except for the Crows who wore leather armor with daggers and bows, who sweated in the heat.

Inside the great hall a feast had been laid, the table resplendent with platters and goblets as Clara sat at the head of the table and Zevran opposite, with the Crows filling in on either side for their break. Clara ate sparingly while listening to her Crows talk about the antiquity of living in the clouds, other bawdy subjects which made her nose wrinkle and which she’d rather not discuss, and how peaceful it was for these soldiers to have come from the fighting pits or brothels only to serve at the hand of a goddess on earth who kept them richly fed and sheltered in a land amidst the clouds, free of the pressures of Earth where they had found no solace out of battle. Indeed, their camaraderie was strong but they kept their blades on the whetstone, fearing only the gods themselves could reach them now. Clara did not trouble herself about the gods, knowing now that perhaps the only person to reach her uninvited was Zoe, which was hardly unsurprising and not unwarranted.

“My lady,” Clara’s lady-in-waiting approached her at the table, not wanting to interrupt the ribald laughter rippling through the table with such merriment among the Crows. “You have a message from the Lady Grace.”

“Grace?” Clara was surprised to receive a letter at all.

“Yes, my lady. The bird arrived a bit windswept but the maester’s attending to it now.”

Clara took the message and dismissed her lady-in-waiting, unfurling the embossed seal and revealing the parchment within. Grace wrote that she wished Clara would attend the tournament so she would have someone to sit with and enjoy the fun.

“That’s it?” Clara spoke to nobody in particular. As the Crows downed more wine and she felt Zevran’s inquisitive stare upon her, she considered what skills she had as an archer. She did not want to compete in the swordplay neither the joust, but she was a quick hit with the bow and though she needed neither gold nor renown, it would be a change of pace to test out her skills against the other competitors amidst a backdrop of cheers.

“Sera,” Clara called out, as her lady-in-waiting came hurrying. “Write back to Grace and inform her I will attend the tournament, under the archery division. When is it again?”

“A week from today, my lady.”

“Good. Sign me up,” said Clara, rising from the table as the Crows met her gaze, standing also out of respect. “You can stay. I’m going to bed early.”

Zevran knew to stay behind so as to not make it obvious, though everyone knew. Shortly after Clara had changed out of her toga and into a silk gossamer robe, she heard the quiet knock on the door and did not need to acknowledge that it was Zevran who slunk through the door, sitting on a chair as he always did, respecting Clara’s right to privacy.

“My love, it has been a while…”

Clara turned to him, suddenly as cold as the breeze. “Are you growing bored of me?”

“No, no,” he shook his hands as a matter of defense.

“If you want a woman who will jump into your bed every time you smirk, find a brothel. I am not one to be commanded into the bedchamber.”

“And I respect you, my love,” said Zevran beseechingly. “Only it tortures me, to see you as beautiful as you are this day and every other day and not to hold you, to kiss you…”

“If you truly love me, you will wait,” said Clara, washing her face with a cloth she dunked in a small earthenware bowl. “I will not prostitute myself out for another man’s desires. I will wait until I come into my own.” she shot him a piercing glare. “Understand?”

Defeated, Zevran complied with a saddened look. “Yes, my love. I do.”

“Good,” Clara turned to the balcony through which the open bay doors lent the night’s breeze. She closed them and went to her bed where she wrapped the sheets about her and fell quickly asleep, safe in the knowledge that no harm would come to her, let alone from Zevran.

KING Max

Max rolled off Maria, more than spent with the exertions she had put him through. Once a high-class escort, Maria had learned from the best and putting the crown on her head as Queen had only made to soften her defensive and bitter exterior. Inside she was a scared, vulnerable girl living in a woman’s body sharpened to survive and she had more than thanked Max for taking her in and keeping her at his side, with the red talons she clawed at his back, smooth legs with which she straddled his torso while riding him and melon-heavy breasts she moaned with pleasure when he sucked her nipples.

In all her free time as Queen she kept herself pruned and pretty for his attendance at any time, for his lust was larger than his coin purse and he had plenty of seed to be spent.

“Baby, I love you,” Maria purred, rubbing the bristly chest hair which had sprouted around his nipples and six pack. She kissed him on the lips then leaned on one elbow to watch him walk to the nearby balcony and piss over the edge, fully naked with his butt muscles clenching as he sighed in relief.

Maria giggled and rolled off the bed, her hair and lipstick a mess as were the sheets in which they had tangled limb and life. Hopefully she was pregnant, a distraction which would lend her life to caretaking but at least she could produce an heir Max could be proud of. Eventually she would have the child raised by nannies and carers, spending all his time with tutors learning history or swordplay under the supervision of the commander general, so she could remain upright and plump for His Majesty’s picking.

“Oh!” Maria gasped as Max slapped her on her tight ass, pulling her round so he could embrace her in a kiss, his cock hardening already as she leapt into his arms, the better to straddle him so that she moaned as they made contact, already familiar with the rhythms of each other’s lovemaking.

“Hungh… ugh…” Max kept close eye contact with her, long since out of practice of bedding her as a useless whore and instead the most practised, inexhaustible lay he had ever had in the kingdom.

“Fuck me… fuck me harder…” Maria bent her neck back in ecstasy, for she did not pretend that Max was a giving lover who waited for her to orgasm. “Oh! Yes - yes!”

This time it was real and Maria felt her eyes close and bit her lips and toes clenched as he drove his shaft into the sweet spot, igniting the fury within her as red as her sweat-dampened locks. The fever of chill caught her in the night’s breeze causing goosebumps to prickle her skin as the fantastic orgasm receded, though Max continued pumping away so she hid her pleasure in the crook of his neck, licking his earlobe for it was for his pleasure alone.

“We should have twins with the amount of fucking we do,” she giggled, biting his earlobe as he cried out in both pain and pleasure, coming into her with savage thrusts that hurt her slightly for she had already reached pinnacle.

Spent, Max wandered over to the bureau where he downed a jug of water before collapsing on the bed, sheets too strewn to make sense as Maria coiled up next to him, cuddling within his berth. Too soon he began snoring and she rolled off him as a matter of habit, both facing opposite ways as the royal couple who ruled this kingdom.


	6. Chapter 6

Adam

Adam sat at the dinner table with Grace opposite him, both eating quietly while the lute player strummed a chord and gentle music flowed about them though little conversation was made. Both brother and sister ate fastidious, edible bites before focusing the conversation on anything but each other - Clara, Zoe and Max - who were their friends and whose prevalence took priority over their own.

“I wonder what the cloud city looks like,” Grace dreamed, taking a sip of wine. “Ooh, this tastes nice.”

“It must be scary, sleeping at night with only the sky around you.”

“Yeah,” commented Grace. “What do you think of Maria?”

“The Queen?” asked Adam, shrugging. “She makes Max happy. So long as she doesn’t overstep her reach she’ll be fine.”

“She’s Queen now. She’ll do what she likes,” remarked Grace.

“I imagine she’ll want to stay on our good side. Yes, she’s queen, but Max would stay loyal to his friends more than her, I hope. Well maybe not if she has his son.”

“Yeah,” added Grace, dispirited.

Adam glanced at the lute player for the third time in as many minutes, noticing how gentle and sweet he looked. Grace caught his gaze but pretended not to notice it.

“I have dessert,” said Adam, as a way of an awkward continuation.

“Ooh! Yum!” Grace’s face lit up as the serving girl brought out a platter with cheesecake pie with strawberries. The serving girl sliced a piece first for Adam then for Grace.

“Thanks,” Grace eagerly scooped the mouthwatering piece into her mouth. “Mmm. That’s good.”

“Can I stay here tonight?” asked Grace, even to the surprise of the lute player and the serving girl, though to the bodyguards this made guarding the two of them easier work.

“Sure,” came Adam’s immediate response, not wanting to hurt her feelings for if she wanted to stay, then why not? “There’s a guest room just adjacent to mine but smaller, with the general washroom next to the scullery.”

“OK,” said Grace eagerly. “I just can’t be bothered walking all the way back to my rooms. I’m so full from dessert.”

“You could have one of your guards carry you there like a princess,” Adam joked.

Grace giggled. “Nah I’m fine. Thanks for having me stay.”

Adam’s eyes flicked instead to the lute player who by chance caught his eye, a smile forming on his face though he played music to hide it. Adam wiped his lips then rose, as the serving girl busied herself with clearing the plates littered with crumbs.

“I’m going to use the toilet then head to bed. Night,” said Grace, quickly adjourning behind the curtained flutter of the washroom near the scullery.

“Thank you for the music,” said Adam to the lute player, who smiled as he was acknowledged. “It was lovely to hear.”

“You’re welcome, my lord,” he bowed, keeping his eyes to the ground until he raised them to meet Adam with a knowing smile.

“What’s your name?”

“Thomas, my lord. Thomas Wyatt,” he glanced to see Grace scurry out of the washroom, wearing but a silk nightgown and bare feet across the stone floor as she mumbled “Night”   
and closed the bedroom door behind her, which Adam knew was not out of privacy for her, but for him to continue his conversation alone.

“I hope you will come again. I would like to hear your music,” said Adam, taking in the stubbly growth upon Thomas’ jaw, his curly brown hair, entrancing eyes that sparkled and slightly tubby body restrained by a courtier’s doublet.

“You honor me, my lord,” he bowed once more, collecting his lute and heading through the door into the corridor outside, where the oak doors closed as the bodyguards flanking them outside resettled themselves.

“I would like him to play at my next dinner,” said Adam, to his valet.

“Of course, Your Grace,” said the valet, eyeing the closed double doors with some disdain.

Part of Adam wished his sister had not asked to stay, he thought to himself as he closed the bedroom door while one of his bodyguards flanked it outside. But perhaps it was a good omen. Thomas certainly seemed delectable and time would be a factor when pursuing such delicious fruit…

Max

Max sat on the throne that had been constructed for him overseeing the lists where the joust was being held. Knights wielding lances crashed against each other, causing Max to erupt with laughter while Clara and Zoe looked on with mild disdain at the blood.

“Who’s left?” called out Max, as the soldiers at either end preparing for battle raised their visors.

One soldier had a brown beard and identified himself as Duncan. The other had blonde hair and called himself Cullen. They kneed their horses and began the match, cantering at full speed until one lance crashed into another and Duncan fell from his horse, crashing upon the ground in a painful injury that broke his arm. After laborers hurried onto the field to relieve him of duty, the victor cantered up to the royal stands and removed his helmet visor. Cullen had blonde hair and a triumphant smirk and bowed before the King as was his duty.

Max moved down the stalls, raising his sword to knight Cullen right then and there.

“You will be one of my soldiers, protecting me day and night.” Max then dismissed Cullen to his armorer to be fitted for gold armor and a greatsword.

As he walked away, he nodded in Clara’s direction with a smirk but she ignored him, finding bold men let alone any of no interest to her.

Grace

“Lady Grace, if I may. Isn’t that Alistair?”

Grace eagerly whipped her head around to spy Alistair entering the lists, not entering the jousts for they had concluded but the swordplay lists, where the first to disarm the other would win. Alistair looked like Cullen but younger and with a fresher look as he dropped the visor on his helmet and drew his sword and shield, facing against a woman with ginger hair who proved to be a might in battle. Alistair was disarmed and sent tumbling to the ground in the quarterfinals, earning chuckling laughs and boos from the crowd as Grace hoped he was alright, though he had a couple of bruises to boot.

“See if he’s OK,” Grace said to one of her bodyguard retinue. “I want to give him this.”

In her hand she revealed a thin golden chain and the bodyguard nodded gravely, setting off for the maester’s pavilion.

She felt useless sitting in the stalls while her potential husband lay injured, but she could not bring herself to run after him since technically, they had never met, in this simulation at least. Grace wondered how Alistair would be like since he was not king in this simulation, only the firstborn son of a nobleman at court.

“I am told, my lady,” interrupted her handmaiden, Mira. “His mother is an elf called Fiona and his father Eamon.”

“Oh,” Grace commiserated, already in love for all the memories she held with that of Alistair from the former simulation… while he looked the same, would his difference in upbringing mean that he might be a different person? Grace bit her lip. Maybe sending the gold chain before she even knew him  _ was _ a bad idea…


	7. Chapter 7

Clara

Clara released the arrow notched to her bow and fired it straight at the straw target, so far in the distance that it hits the target but she can’t tell at this pace. She turned to the remaining contender for the title, a guy called Sebastian who has brown hair and a taut body beneath his leather armor, having released his arrow at nearly the same time.

The laborer sons of the older men who greeted their cries began to shout one name that rippled through the crowd and caused Clara to stiffen, greatly reluctant to meet Sebastian but he offered a bow to which she scarcely nodded then raised his bow in victory, as the crowd began to cheer.

Clara glanced briefly at Zoe, shrugging somewhat as she noticed Zevran on the edge of the stands, smirking as he fold his arms. He does not look churlish, he applauds her effort. Clara affords him a small smile but does not come to him.

She walks over to Sebastian who is being knighted by Max, not as his personal bodyguard for it requires the expert skills of a sword, but as a soldier to be recruited in aid of the castle’s defenses which is an honor in itself as he would have rooms in the castle barracks.

“Well done in the lists,” he tells her. “You are very good, my lady.”

“Thanks,” she says, rather stiffly. “Good luck with being my brother’s soldier.”

She does not know what else to say to a man who beat her, though she had thought choosing a castle in the sky would save her from defeat. Instead, later that night, she would find she is more open to company, especially from Zevran and that night they cuddle.

Adam

Adam sits alone in his private quarters, nervously anticipating what to say. There is a knock on the door and his two bodyguards rouse to attention, as the third outside opens the door and in steps Thomas, the bard player whom had so captured his attention.

“Gentlemen, if you would leave us,” Adam spoke to his bodyguards.

Reluctantly they nodded their assent, accepting the posts outside the doors while the other two meander towards the barracks for their break. Thomas swoops a low bow worthy of a courtier while the serving girl delivers roast chicken with mint sauce and vegetables and peas, asked to not bother about the clean up until the morrow.

“Your Grace, I am honored to have been invited,” smiled Thomas, picking up his knife and fork. “May I ask what pleasure is due that I warrant your attention?”

“I find you very handsome, Thomas. And sweet and… musical,” stuttered Adam, for lack of a better word.

Thomas smiles more broadly. Halfway through the dinner he reaches out to stroke Adam’s hand and he is reciprocated, Adam unable to meet Thomas’ eye but finding his gentle soul beguiling. The curl of his hair, the unshaven stubble of his jaw. He is dreamy.

“What do you do, Thomas? Outside of playing the lute?”

“I write songs, mainly. Occasionally I’ll tour the forests outside the castle walls, now that they’re practically free of bandits. I like to seek inspiration, a muse for my talents.” His gaze kept Adam entranced as he picked up a piece of chicken and popped it into his mouth. “Just so you know, Your Grace. I found you equally mesmerizing as well.”

“Me?” Adam was taken aback. He might’ve looked at his reflection at the back of a spoon had there been one, but dessert was in the scullery nearby if necessary.

“Absolutely,” he offered a cheeky little smile. “I’ve seen you watch me from across the room several times. I find you to be… very passionate, though you try to stifle it, Your Grace.”

“You can call me Adam,” said Adam, fidgeting and smiling as he tried to meet Thomas’ eye.

Thomas raised his goblet. “To you. Adam, the Duke.”

“Thomas,” Adam bit his lip trying not to grin broadly and failed. “Such a master playing the lute.”

“Oh, I’m better with my hands in other ways, Your Grace,” his coy smile was enough to make Adam cream with pleasure within the confined embraces of his laced breeches. He wanted to kiss Thomas all over. “Here. I’ll show you.”

With this, Thomas rose from the table to approach Adam, running his hands through his hair and kissing him deeply on the lips. Outside Adam was vaguely aware of the soldiers standing guard outside, but then suddenly swept up in what Thomas was doing, the gentleness of running his hand through Adam’s hair as though he knew it was his sweet spot. Adam shuddered with pleasure, as Thomas straddled Adam and kissed his neck, while Adam inhaled the scent of his glorious curls and Thomas faced him once more, going in for another kiss which seemed to last an eternity.

At length, Thomas rose and took Adam by the hand, towards the bedchamber the door of which Adam closed behind him. After that, Thomas undressed Adam one piece of clothing at a time, his gaze on Adam’s crotch as he unlaced his breeches and let them fall, removing the undergarment as his eyes flickered and grinned broadly, bringing him onto the bed so that Thomas straddled him. He removed his tunic, revealing a slightly tubby stomach with chest hair, which Adam ran his hands through. Adam pushed Thomas down on the sheets to kiss down Thomas’ chest, which he groaned in pleasure as Adam unlaced Thomas’ breeches, pulling them down his legs to glimpse the hairy legs parting as Adam ran his hands over Thomas’ undergarment, unstrapping it so that his junk hung heavy against a bramble of hair, balls heavy with the blood flow.

At once Adam concerned himself with Thomas’ snail trail, who began breathing heavily as Adam went lower and Thomas moaned in pleasure, his hands running through Adam’s hair as he bobbed up and down… and soon the two lovers found themselves entwined in another’s bodies, sheets strewn about the canopy bed as Thomas slept behind Adam, his arms snaked within Adam’s chest and kissed him on the neck as the two nestled up together for sleep. Adam felt a lightness and weight of his chest begin to sink in relief, in happiness and what felt right.


	8. Chapter 8

Clara

Coquettishly Clara watched as Zevran strode bare naked from the bed, towards the water jug where he handed her a goblet of which she drank deeply while pooling the sheets around her naked self. It had been her first time and Zevran, ever the adept lover, had taken her with such skill and care it had taken an achingly long time for Clara to be free of the knots and twists which had beget her anxiety, not to mention that she was totally outclassed by such a consummate lover such as he.

It had been a little painful but he had let her do what she wanted without asking for anything in return which had enhanced her pleasure as she felt safe in his arms. Afterwards, they took a hot bath together so that they might explore one another’s bodies while relaxing in the heat, and while she was certainly not up for trying it again she did enjoy having him near, the warmth of Zevran’s body providing more than enough comfort than the sex had done, awkward and frigid as she had found it.

“I won’t rush you, my love,” he told her, stroking her hair against the sensual nature of her slim body. “We can take it one step at a time.”

Clara was glad to hear those words. As she dried herself and changed into a gossamer sleeping rope, she found herself peckish and sent Zevran to the kitchens, albeit wearing something more than his birthday suit so she might not raise the Crow’s suspicions, hoping to herself that she had not fallen pregnant. She said a small prayer in that instance, to gods known only to herself for the last thing she wanted was a child, and even more privately in her innermost self that she did not want it to be half-elf.

LADY Grace

In the bright sunshine one afternoon, Grace strolled through the verdant greens which comprised the box hedge maze to one side of the castle. Aristocratic girls would meet their secret loves from afar, young men from houses whose rivalries prevented it a la Romeo and Juliet. Genteel couples of aged houses would hold hands and sit at the benches overlooking the fountain in the middle for just like they had found each other through trying times, this was to symbolise the fountain of their lost youth but held onto love.

Grace held a parasol over her head, not attended by Mira as she usually was, meeting Alistair in secret to escape the prying eyes. He had been sent a message by Mira that her Lady was willing to meet and he came around the corner at this time, smiling nervously though he tried to stifle his nerves, wiping sweaty palms on his fine leather jerkins.

“Lady Grace, it is an honor to meet you,” he bowed before her, somewhat awkwardly before scratching his head.

“Do you want to sit down?” Grace led him over to a bench shielded by the wall of a box hedge. She felt both nervous and emboldened. “I wanted to meet in public, but Mira said it would attract less attention this way if things, um, didn’t work out.”

“Surely you must have other suitors better than me, my lady,” stuttered Alistair. “A firstborn son I may be, but my father is angry with me for losing in the lists. A girl who fancied me broke off any interest after that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Grace reached out to hold his hand, to his surprise as Grace had to remind herself this was a new copy of Alistair in the simulation. she drew her hand away. “Sorry.”

“No, It’s fine,” he managed, taking a deep breath. “Truth is, I’m a little nervous myself. My father wants me to find a wife, but I’m not ready yet, I tell him. I want to wait for ‘the one’ to come along. As far as he’s concerned… the higher I marry, the better.”

“Well, he’d be pleased if you married me. After all I’m the Duke’s sister. But I wouldn’t be marrying you for him. If we like each other, then that’s all that matters.”

Alistair stared at her. “That’s… the kindest thing I’ve heard in awhile. Really. It means a lot.”

Grace smiled and squeezed his hand, gently then rebuffed his sudden kiss nervously. He flushed a beet red.

“I-I’m sorry… I just thought - “

“Um,” said Grace, flustered.

“Look, I should go,” Alistair got to his feet, straightening slightly. “It was nice to meet you, and all. My lady.” He bowed and hurried off, clearly embarrassed.

Grace was left to find the exit to the maze in her own time, pondering her thoughts and now understanding the difference between the King she had married in the prior simulation and the bumbling, awkward young man she had just encountered. They were so similar yet different, and she would have to take things slow if things were to pan out as she had thought they might.


	9. Chapter 9

Max

Max rode beside Adam, through the forest and surrounded throughout by gold-plated soldiers who scouted ahead for bandits, not that any had been sighted.

“How’s Maria?” Adam asked, coming to a halt as Max drew deeply of a skin of water.

“She’s an animal, Adam,” he grinned broadly. “The maester said she might be pregnant.”

“Oh wow congratulations!”

“What about you?” he cheekily inferred. “Still seeing that music boy?”

Adam had the audacity to blush. “Yeah, I am. He’s so sweet and caring. I can’t say no.”

“Neither can Maria,” Max’s eyebrows wiggled in a way to suggest he had no end of pussy from his wife.

“Do you prefer over the other girls? Is she still good in bed?” Adam asked, as they kneed their horses in the side and set off once again.

“Yeah. Sometimes I’ll take a mistress or two, but Maria’s so damn horny I can’t get her off me. And she’s always around if I want to fuck. It’s excellent.”

Ahead of them the trees ran rampant, the forest invading them like the siege they would never had. Rabbits scampered to and fro, with deer peeking their antlers around only to scurry off frantically before a well-timed arrow caught them in the breast.

“Guards! I want some wine!”

Before he knew it, a table was laid with a feast for two and plenty of grog to be drunk. Adam deferred from the ale, but took a glass of wine to which Max replied “sissy”. All in all it was a splendid day with the sunshine no longer peeking at them through the canopy of treetops, now openly bathing them in its warmth. The grass spread for miles echoing mountains and their peaks in the distance, whinnying of their horses while their grooms held them at bay, snickering of mounts as gold-plated bodyguards kept a firm hand on their swords, among them Cullen who had been newly promoted to the guard, and Aveline who had unhorsed Alistair in the quarterfinals to rise to victory. Neither of their personalities were made evident through the uniformity of their gold plate, identical helms and consistent behaviour of watching closely for bandits attacks or the like.

“What do you think Clara’s doing? Up there in her cloud tower?” Adam sipped on his wine.

“Who knows. Quite Maxly I couldn’t give a fuck,” Max arched his head around, ensuring they were not overheard. “I’ve got countless letters from men at court petitioning to wine and dine her. I chucked them in the fire.”

Adam laughed at this. Musing upon the rolling plains of green, it was a sight to see.

“Maybe Zevran’s the one for her.” said Adam.

“He did save her in the previous simulation,” noted Max. “Maybe.”

“How is Maria adapting to being queen?” asked Adam. “She must find it exhausting.”

“Naw, not really,” grinned Max. “Except the part where she has to fuck me for a living.”

“Aren’t there feasts and festivities and everyone at court looking at her, judging her? Don’t they do that with you?”

“You’re paying too much attention to these things. We - I - rule this kingdom. The subjects can blather on all they want about Maria’s breasts bulging out of her dress or my constant whoring around. At the end of the day, even the homeless have jobs thanks to Grace, everyone’s fed and sheltered with the best money can buy, and we’re the safest kingdom in the land. Not too many rulers can say that.”

“No, they can’t. I imagine it would be harder in real life, a lot harder. But we’ve got it easy this time, in a narrower scope of this simulation.”

Max wasn’t paying attention, noticing that his groom had accidentally let the reins of his horse go, and while it hadn’t bolted it was running circles around them in the same spot, leading to drama and more than a few quiet guffaws within the gold-plated full helms of bodyguards spread out upon coursers.

“Idiot,” remarked Max, draining the last of his third mug. “I’m finished. Let’s head back to the castle. I want pudding and pussy.”

Adam tried to hide his disdain but failed, as Max caught his glance.

“Hey, you’re no saint, either,” he suddenly became serious. “You’re the one packing fudge each night.”

“Gross!” Adam exclaimed loudly, to the private merriment of all as Max caught his horse’s reins and mounted it, as did Adam and together they rode, in crude silence towards the peaks and towers of the walled castle city they knew so well.

Zoe

Zoe walked the city’s alleyways and paths, inspecting the shops she encountered with a critical eye. She had spotted two counterfeit traders with illicit goods on their wagons and broken up a bar fight with but a stony glare, and entered an upscale couturier well known for clothing the likes of Lady Grace and Lady Maria.

On a mannequin behind the counter was a red sheath dress with little modesty and a wreath of rubies around its neck, titled ‘The Queen’s Collection’. Essentially the couturier was showing off the pieces he had made for Maria at great profit recompensed to himself, so that his store would be privileged above all others. Not surprisingly, there had not been an inflow of offers about low-cut dresses since no aristocrat gentleman would put his daughter in one only to be rebuffed by the tons of heir youths who wanted pliant, supple wives with which to impregnate, not saucy little minxes. Unless one was courting the King, and he preferred tastes different to the one enjoyed in his marital bed with his wife, there had been stifling demand yet the couturier still proudly showed off his creations with glee.

“L-lady Zoe!” the couturier was surprised to see the court mage in his store, not the least of which she rarely ventured out in public and her style among the ladies of the court was resigned to black and red robes. “What an honor it is - “

“I’m not a lady. You will call me Archmage,” instructed Zoe.

“Y-yes, of course,” the couturier mopped his brow, shamed before the ladies who twittered behind their hands and quickly fled, aware Zoe had an eye on all of them and didn’t want to be involved in court gossip. “How may I help you today?”

“I want this,” Zoe found an item that was resigned to the back of the shelves, a full-bodice black gown with slivers of gold among the sides and a hood at the back.

“For what occasion do you anticipate wearing it?” asked the couturier, who wished the customer hadn’t seen that particular piece which had been made for a woman in mourning yet decided at the last second the hood made it gauche. It had sat dusty for months.

“The King is having a ceremony to celebrate his wife getting pregnant. I will wear it there,” said Zoe, removing it brusquely from the rack and eyeing it with some nervous disdain as she held it against herself in the full length mirror nearby.

“Well, of course! If you like, I can alter it to fit your size - “

Zoe shot him with a piercing glare. “Naturally. I want it ready over the weekend.”

“Y-yes, Arch-Mage,” fussed the couturier, as Zoe walked out without paying yet as he ventured back to the counter with the hooded gown in his hands, he was surprised to see a gold satchel on his counter that he hadn’t noticed was there before.


	10. Chapter 10

Clara

Clara sat beside her brother at the ceremony that was to herald Maria getting pregnant.

_ That fat sow _ , Clara thought bitterly to herself. Her moon day had passed and she was still in danger of being pregnant, though Zevran treated her with all the care of a Princess, which was technically her title as the sister of a King. Clara remembered that Max hadn’t even so much as raised a child on  _ The Sims _ , yet here he was heralding to the court and chambers that he would have a son. Likely he would let Maria have the brood and go find other sluts to wench.

She didn’t have to look far to find others who agreed with her. Maria was clearly not the motherly type, far more concerned with her vanity and clutching onto her man’s hand so hard she dug her red talons in. Zoe had a moue of disapproval, needing Clara’s persuasion to come along to the ceremony in the hooded gown which made her look like an overinflated insect. Clara privately agreed that Zoe had no place at court where beauty was at least the first essential qualification, that and slimness of body.

Zevran sat beside her, in a tunic that suited him for he rarely wore anything but his battle leathers. He stroked her hand and called her ‘my love’, to no end where he clearly was very affectionate but Clara was more bothered by the anxieties beset upon her about having his baby. She had wanted a castle in the clouds to escape the iniquities of earth, not to suddenly crash back to the ground with a basket load of responsibilities.

“Are you alright, my love?” Zevran suddenly interrupted, aware that the court was eyeing them both for Clara had never been seen so openly with a man in public.

“Yeah,” replied Clara, showing as much interest as she ever had in someone who approached her. She turned towards her brother for someone to criticise, but he was rubbing Maria’s belly and kissing her on the lips. “Ew.”

Adam

Adam sat at the place of honor beside Maria, with Grace on his other side who chatted with her handmaiden, Mira. The dining hall was filled with landowners and gentry, aristocrats who paid the king lip service and bowed before his table in honor of the pregnant Queen Maria. Several lute players had been invited to the feast, among them Thomas who shot Adam knowing smiles when he glanced his way. Adam kept his face a mask but lingered his gaze upon Thomas for whom he ached as he returned to his meal.

Unbeknownst to him, a courtier suddenly approached the high table not without the stern admonitions of the bodyguards who surrounded so many high ranking royals and bowed before Adam.

“Your Grace, I come with an invitation to meet a potential suitor.”

“Really?” asked Adam, surprised. Almost unconsciously, he glanced at Thomas who had his back to him, strumming his lute for the wizened ladies who clapped and applauded at his wit. “Who is he?”

“Charles Brandon, my lord. He’s the firstborn son of the commander general.”

“Oh. Well where will I meet him then?” Adam asked, rising from his table as a serving wench moved to clear his plates.

The courtier led him through the packed throng of tables where aristocrats and nobles nodded their head, while Adam caught Thomas’ eye who smiled and Adam reciprocated though feeling a bit uneasy. At length the courtier led him up the stairs to the rafters and towards one of the many balconies, this one in particular which looked out upon the gardenia and grounds below. Two archways led through to this balcony so Adam’s bodyguard split into two to flank each opening.

“My lord,” said Charles, bowing with perfect muster as Adam stood flabbergasted. “I am Charles Brandon. It is an honor to meet you.”

“You too, Charles,” was all Adam could muster, shaking his hand and joining him in admiring the view from the balcony. Charles was easily the most handsome man in all the kingdom, with a shaved head and gilded doublet and an easy smile that could charm the pants off any pretty maiden be they old or small.

“How fares your sister, the Lady Grace?” asked Charles.

“She’s good. Mostly helping out the poor and homeless get back on their feet.”

“Ah, that’s good. A Lady who is not above her position. That’s a rare sight to see at court.”

“Definitely,” said Adam. “Tell me Charles, why did you invite me out here?”

“To ask your permission, of course,” said Charles, turning with a bold stare to Adam. “I wish to court your sister’s attentions. You are a Duke, second to our honored King, so I would not think of provoking your ire unless you gave your assent.”

“That was very thoughtful of you, Charles,” stuttered Adam, who for the briefest second had imagined Charles as  _ different _ . “I imagine she has quite a few suitors, though she does think overly long of marriage. She does not envisage being a stay-at-home wife, either. She is very active with her charity work.”

“As I understand it, I would not want to divert her from her duties,” said Charles with serious intent. “Are there any suitors for her hand I should be wary of?”

“There’s Alistair, the son of one of the nobles in town.”

“Ah, Alistair,” Charles managed a chuckle. “He’s a good lad, but much too awkward for a woman like Grace.”

“I don’t know,” Adam voiced his dissent. “I’d say Grace appreciates a nervous novice, as she is one herself. As a man of the world as you must understand, she is a maiden and too precious to concern herself with fighting for your attention among the pack of women you must bed daily.”

“You flatter me, my lord,” Charles smirked. “Though it is true.”

“Well, my sister does not need a lothario. Especially if she were to marry you, she would insist upon fidelity. Could you swear that oath upon your marriage bed?”

“Of course, my lord. With a lady such as Grace, she would be all my heart desires.”

“Or that your rank desires?” Adam arched an eyebrow. “Listen, Brandon. Grace is no wallflower. She is very close to the Lady Clara, Arch Mage Zoe, and has the ear of the King himself. Would any seek to hurt or betray her in any way…”

“I assure you, my lord,” said Charles, unusually penitent. “No harm would come to her under my watch. I give you my word.”

“Well,” Adam mused faintly on this. “You may try all you like. But the final decision lies with my sister.”


	11. Chapter 11

Grace

Grace was sitting at the high table next to her brother’s empty seat, while Mira told her tales of gossip and intrigue that had to do with every highborn daughter she could spy when suddenly, Alistair approached her table with a nervous gulp and produced a white rose which caused more than a few stares.

“My lady,” Alistair coughed nervously. “This is for you.”

“Oh! How sweet of you,” Grace cooed, cutting herself on the tiny thorns “Ow!” but trying to hide it. Mira knew at once to fetch a vase and fill it with water so that it could sit daintily on the large table upon which they all ate.

“Your Majesty,” Alistair suddenly bowed to King Max who along with his wife Maria had taken interest in the strapping lad to present himself at the high table.

“Grace has a paramour, my love,” giggled Maria.

“Thank you Alistair,” butted in Grace, determined not to cause Alistair further embarrassment, for it was clear he had rustled up a lot of courage before taking those fateful steps in front of everyone’s clear view. “Let’s speak again another day.”

With that Alistair cast a nervous glance to the Majesties, bowed once more to them and to Grace, departing for the high table where his stone-faced father, idle twig of a mother and younger brother and two sisters sat, watching him and embracing him in conversation the moment he returned.

“He is precious, isn’t he, my lady,” giggled Mira.

“He’s sweet,” said Grace, admiring the white rose.

Zoe

“So when are you and Zevran getting married?” Zoe joked, when Zevran had adjourned to use the washroom.

“Never,” said Clara, certain of herself. “I don’t want to become somebody’s wife. Not in this generation.”

“It’s probably for the best, anyway,” said Zoe. “Just in case.”

“What about you?” Clara asked with some interest. “Nobody who catches your eye?”

Zoe burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? Look at them all!”

Pretty blonde faces or stubborn angular brunettes with muscles or dark haired, broad shouldered men stumbling as they poured flagon after flagon of ale into their gullet.

“You never know, you might meet someone you like,” said Clara, her eyes glinting. “If I’ve found Zevran, who knows…?”

“Yeah right,” said Zoe. “The only man I’d possibly consider is Vincent Valentine.”

“Would you date him if he was here?” asked Clara curiously.

“Mmmh.” Zoe shrugged. “I dunno. Playing them in a game is one thing, meeting them face to face is a whole ‘nother deal.”

“I suppose,” Clara simpered. “But Zevran’s not bad. Who knows. You might just find someone you like. I’ll let you know if I find anyone, anyway.”

With some trepidation Zoe agreed. She was not above privately admitting to herself that the days had become lonely in the tall tower of the castle she inhabited, not that she wished for lovemaking or anything, but some male company other than the hooded rogues who snitched on rebels would be nice. She downed a goblet of wine and rose to leave the table.

When she reached the corridor where the gender segregated bathrooms were on opposite sides of the wall, she saw a man skulking against the wall, arms folded and head lowered as he waited in the queue. He had a mop of brown hair, pale skin with a scar down his face and barely glanced up. It was Squall Leonhart.

Zoe suddenly forgot her excuse to seek the privacy of the washroom and wash her face. She strode up to him and muttered, “Squall.”

He looked surprised to be addressed, glancing away to offer a handshake.

“Archmage Zoe,” he said, with the insouciant slouch she knew so well from the games.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He thumbed behind him at the queue.

“I mean, in this city? Aren’t you supposed to be at Balamb?”

He ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Times change. I’m passing through.”

“Is the Ragnarok here?” she asked.

He laughed mirthlessly. “Are you kidding? The peasants would have a fit if they saw one. I travel through time with Edea’s magic.”

Zoe had little to say to that. The queue moved and Squall carried on through the procession, bidding her a nod in goodbye as he disappeared behind the red curtain.

Max

Max lay quite spent on the royal bed, after Maria had finished sucking and fucking him. She wore nothing besides the rubies in her hair and at her throat, and by the time she was done with him she had worked herself into quite a lather which she was sure was good for the pregnancy, as everyone knew from that  _ Friends _ episode, sex helped to induce labor.

Now he lay snoring and Maria contented herself by sitting in front of her vanity table in the adjoining parlour, where racks of her gowns were on display alongside glass displays of velvet interior where her most prized pieces were displayed, rubies at best then emeralds and sapphires. Gold was the common currency for her, so jewels that glinted in the light and big as bird’s eggs were just fine by her.

She hoped to give the king a son so he would love her more, for right now she could tell if it wasn’t for her fabulous body and lovemaking skills they scarcely would’ve met. She was lucky to snare him at such a time as when she thought him a virgin and despite the countless consorts which he bedded, he always came back to her for she aroused the fondest memories of him for which she liked to think she fostered first in his mind.

Becoming Queen had been beyond all her hopes and desires. Max was rowdy, a drunk and enjoyed the perversions of sex just as much as she, but in return she was free to spend whatever days and nights not under the covers by spending the kingdom’s treasure on fine gowns, beautiful jewels, riding in the elaborate royal wheelhouse of which one was his and one was hers, being greeted most solicitously by all the townsfolk be they noble or common; finally her station was large enough so that nobody could take her down, for it had been a wild ride and a spot of luck which had brought her into the royal spotlight.

Maria entered her private quarters adjourning that of her husband’s, where handmaidens rushed to help her into the bath where she soaped and sluiced the sweat off her body. A handmaiden handed her a silk chiffon robe and they all curtsied as she slept in her own bed tonight, giving her husband some space so he did not feel stifled. Key to being and staying Queen was knowing her husband’s moods so she could anticipate them, and she knew with the amount of ale her husband had consumed tonight he would be in too much pain to receive her in the morning.

Clara

The long ride into the forest to ascend to her cloud city would’ve taken too long, so by the feast’s end Clara adjourned to the set of private rooms that had been held for her as sister to the King. Handmaidens plucked from other parts of the castle to assist Clara as she removed her constrictive gown and bathed with Zevran, allowing them privacy as the two of them nestled up to sleep in bed, the castle on land more grounded than that of her floating fantasy world.

Adam

Adam was glad to receive Thomas in his chambers right after the feast had finished. With windows overlooking the city at night, they cuddled in one another’s arms and drifted off to sleep, sweet kisses in exchange for another round under the sheets.


	12. Chapter 12

Clara

The next day Clara went riding with Zevran, in the forest.

“I think I might be pregnant,” she said.

“My love! Are you sure?”

She nodded and he became beatific with joy.

“But this is wonderful news! We must share it with your family and the Crows!”

“You think?” Clara turned to him.

“Yes! Yes, at once - “ Zevran moved to embrace her, but the sound of a twig snapped.

Suddenly they were surrounded by at least twelve bandits, brandishing swords or aiming bows as they ventured out of the woods.

“We fight!” Zevran jumped off his horse, kicking her so that she whinnied and galloped away while brandishing his double swords.

Clara’s horse sensed danger and reared on hind legs to avoid the arrows that would’ve impaled her, while Clara drew her bow and notched an arrow, hitting a bandit square between the eyes. Zevran’s blades whirled as he ducked a thrust from one and stabbed him in the gut, while dodging a strike from a second bandit and kicking him in the gut so that he keeled over.

Arrows impaled Zevran in the back, sticking out of his leather armor while Clara notched three arrows to her bow, all of which grievously wounded three bandits.

“Charge!” cried the remainder of the bandits.

Clara leapt off her horse to tackle a soldier who would’ve dealt the finishing blow to wounded Zevran, and who murderously stabbed the same bandit with his blade. Clara notched two more arrows from her quiver and aimed headshots at two bandits, both falling over as three more surrounded them.

Clara had time to notch another arrow but had to parlay with a sword dance, firing one that injured a bandit in the leg while Zevran ducked one bandit’s slash but fell crippled under another, falling to the ground. Clara whirled, distracted as he cried out in pain but the hilt of a sword knocked her flat to the ground. She watched miserably as Zevran whimpered when he was knocked out unconscious and felt ropes bind her hand and foot, dragged reluctantly on the back of a bandit’s horse, of which two bandits remained, one quite injured.

“Let’s go!” urged the gruff voice of the man who held her hostage.

Clara’s eyes remained on the bloodied form of Zevran in the distance as the horse galloped away, with the remaining bandit standing watch over Zevran as he tied him onto his own horse and galloped away in the other direction.

Clara closed her eyes and concentrated on Zoe, trying to summon her with her thoughts but to no avail. She was angry that the Crows were not here to protect her though she had ordered them to leave her and Zevran alone, cursing her stupidity.

Eventually the bandit stopped in front of a familiar grove of trees, the apex beyond where a waterfall shone in all its glory with the sunshine glinting off it and he pulled Clara from his saddle, shoving her onto the ground and drawing his sword.

“Listen here, missy,” he growled. “My men and I have watched you fly into the sky with some sort of magic I can’t do without. I don’t know how you manage to give your horse wings, but damnit you’ll tell me now or your head’s on the block!”

“You lost your chance when my horse ran away, you fucking idiot,” said Clara. “Only my horses are granted the gift of flight. Your stupid mount has no such advantage - “

Her eyes widened in shock as he gripped her by the hair, his blade so close to her flesh that she could feel the blood dripping down her bosom.

“You fucker,” she managed. “Go on. Kill me. Max will hang you from the rafters - “

“No such luck, missy,” his breath was sour on her face. “You’ll be ransomed for more gold than your pussy’s worth - “

With that he knocked her flat with the hilt of his blade.

Adam

Adam was overseeing the receipts of taxes earned into the city’s coffers with several advisors when the doors burst open and in marched the two bodyguards who flanked his doors, to add to the two already inside the room who remained in his presence at all times.

“My lord, pardon the intrusion!” spoke one who entered. “Zevran has shown up in the courtyard. He is grievously injured and says he must speak to you at once.”

Adam hurried from the room, led by his bodyguards towards the maester’s chambers where Zevran was being seen to with poultices and bandages. Zevran croaked in acknowledgment when he saw Adam, but the maester urgently bade he keep still.

“Y-your Grace,” Zevran spat blood. “Bandits. They took her.”

“What?” Adam moved closer. “They took Clara?”

He nodded bitterly, spitting some more before the maester insisted he rest his head, winding a fresh bandage to replace the bloodied one before it.

“I managed to escape my captor, but I fear… “ Zevran hesitated. “Your Grace, she is carrying my child.”

Adam went white. “What!”

“We should inform the Arch Mage, Your Grace,” interrupted one of Adam’s bodyguards. “She is best acquainted with the Lady Clara and well practiced in the arcane arts. Surely if anyone can find her it will be her.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Adam appeared inestimably flustered. “Find her at once. In the meantime, I must inform the king. Where is he?”

“In his private quarters. Queen Maria is resting while the time for birth comes.”

Adam eyed the maester tending to Zevran. “Take good care of him.”

He took off at a run, three bodyguards sprinting to keep him for they were slower in their plate armor while Adam moved easily in his richly festooned doublet. His fourth bodyguard turned down a different corridor, towards a painting of a dragon which he traced with a finger, alerting the occupant of the Arch-Mage’s quarters that someone wished to see her.

Adam headed up the stairs, knowing the way for his quarters were quite near Max’s. At the double doors stood no less than four gold-plated bodyguards, for he was the King after all, not to mention the Queen was with him.

“Let me through!” the Duke commanded. “I have urgent news of the king’s sister!”

They opened the doors just as he burst into the king’s private chambers, rich rugs and dining table and the smells of stew cooking to help induce the labor of the queen’s child. Gold-plated bodyguards stood at strategic nooks and crannies throughout the room, while Adam burst into Max’s bedroom finding it empty, hearing unpleasant sounds from the privy adjacent and knocking on the ajar door, not daring to peek in.

“What?” came his blood curdling cry.

“Get out here, Max! Clara’s been taken hostage!”

Max wiped as quickly as he could and ran into sight, as a chambermaid entered through a discreet opening to empty the chamber pot, pinching her nose to the apparent unconcern of the king.

“Who took her?” Max took heavy, furious breaths.

“Bandits, as far as I know. Zevran escaped but I’ve got one of my guards contacting Zoe on the way. She’ll find the men responsible for this.”

“Those fuckers!” Max roared, as the unpleasant stench began to filter into his private quarters. Adam moved to open the balcony doors which helped to remove some of it. “Guards! I want the forest swept for a hundred leagues!”

“Yes, your Majesty,” bowed Cullen, who hurried down through the castle to find the commander-general.

“There’s more news. Clara may be pregnant.”

Max grabbed a vase full of fragrant poppies and smashed them against a wall, but the vase toppled off the balcony and faintly crashed below. Max was so red with rage he was puce.

“I’ll kill the fucker! Nobody touches my sister!”

Adam thought vaguely  _ except for Zevran _ but kept his mouth shut, since his concern for Clara was no less than Max’s. He marched into his armory to don battle armor that weighed a ton, equipping his formidable warhammer.

“Come on,” he urged, as he marched through the castle to the awe of all who bowed in his presence. “Ready the horses and prepare for war!”


	13. Chapter 13

Zoe

“Arch-Mage, the Lady Clara has been kidnapped. Zevran lies injured in the maester’s chambers. There are also suggestions that the Lady may be pregnant.”

Zoe glanced out of the arrow slit window, blocking out the sounds all around her so she could focus on Clara’s heartbeat,  _ feeling _ it pumping blood and concentrating so she could possess her, at least briefly to gain some understanding of where she might be held.

“Leave my quarters,” she barked, leaping from the arrow slit window only to morph into a giant eagle, soaring through the sky and heading towards the forest.

Clara

Clara was bedraggled and exhausted, dehydrated though she tried not to show it whenever her captor peeked in from the stone crevice in which he had imprisoned her. Whenever he walked away he would remove a sword from the plinth which stood in the center of the room and the stone door would close, not that she had the energy to leap for it before it closed, or the inclination to get herself killed as he was, after all, wielding a blade that could kill her baby.

She wanted to keep the baby now that it was in danger, and ran her hand over the small bump that had protruded but was hidden behind leathers but not that of a corseted gown. At present she was glad she wore the former as a corset would’ve only hindered her breathing at a time when she needed to remain conscious, the better for Zoe to track her. As many soldiers as her brother commanded, it would take Zoe shorter time than for the armies of the kingdom to search every forest in the land surrounding the city.

“Fuck you! Fuck you, you fucking cocksucker!” screamed Clara.

Adam

Just as Adam saw Max off, headed through the city gates to search with his men, he was promptly approached by a court official who handed him an important message.

“For your eyes only, my lord.”

He unfurled it and read that a ransom had been demanded for Lady Clara, to the tune of a million gold pieces as well as relinquishing control of her cloud castle. This last request was most hard to believe, as no mortal could hope to ascend without Clara spilling the secrets of her trade. Yet the note cautioned that if he saw the king’s armies or anyone approaching who hoped to intervene, he would slit the Lady’s throat at once and end the life of her unborn child whom he had recently found out she was carrying.

“Burn it,” Adam handed the message back to the official. “Zoe will find her soon. And when she does, there will be hell to pay.”

Zoe

Zoe devolved from an eagle the moment she sensed Clara was nearby. Creeping like a shadowcat in full daylight, she crept upon the habitat where the bandits lay, in stealth positions which she could detect due to her nose.

With swift strides she took them all out, commanding their shadows to strike the flesh, so that they wordlessly fell in bloodied lots. Zoe strode into the cave, met the glance of the bandit leader and discharged a bolt of electricity which knocked him flat unconscious.

“Zoe!” came Clara’s hoarse shout. “Get his sword!”

Zoe glanced around for a faintly glowing sword upon the bandit leader’s person. She gripped it, seeing no use for it until spotting a plinth atop which she could pierce the stone.

“Stand back!” Zoe commanded, thrusting the sword into the plinth.

At once the cave door swung down, revealing the injured and dehydrated Clara kneeling on the floor. Zoe helped her to her feet, turning back to the bandit leader and extending her palm so that vines grew from the floor and tightly encased him. As she met the sunlight where so many bandits’ bodies lay, she blew a kiss to the wind and a black raven took flight, headed for the glittering gold army headed up by Max in the forests beyond.

“Fuck, took you long enough,” whined Clara.

“Oh, shut up,” said Zoe, morphing into a great eagle once more. She knelt so that Clara could ride her, albeit weakly. “Don’t let go!”

“I won’t,” managed Clara, droll. “What about the bandit leader?”

“Max will deal with him. For now, you must see the maester.”

Zoe took flight, with Clara approximating the thrill of the ride to her Pegasus which she missed, and the cloud city, her Crows and of course, Zevran. Zoe flew for the tallest tower in the castle, coming into sight round a mountain as did the sparkling landscape below.

Max

Max glanced up from his gilded mount to see the dark raven approach, settle on his shoulder with a piece of parchment tied to its leg. He unrolled it with some suspicion and read that the bandit lay apprehended in a cave to the northeast, marked and marred by the corpses of dead bandits. Clara was safe in Zoe’s hold, to be seen by the maester.

“Let’s go, boys!” Max’s courser charged for the cave, as his tenfold army surrounded him.

He came upon the cave where bandit bodies lay scattered, and his guards spat on or kicked them in the dust as they passed. Max swung off his horse and entered the dimly lit cave, where an opened passageway was where he assumed Clara had been previously imprisoned with a sword upon a plinth acting as a key of sorts. Not too far off he saw the bandit leader, knocked out and trussed with vines which seemed to have sprouted from the ground. Max bent his head close to the barely breathing son-of-a-bitch.

“You touched my sister, you bastard. I’ll show you what happens to filthy animals like you,” Max turned to Aveline, his bodyguard. “Take the fucker back to the dungeons. Don’t let him out of your sight!”


	14. Chapter 14

Grace

Grace sat and prayed with her lady-in-waiting Mira when Adam burst in, delivering the good news.

“Oh, thank god!” Grace hurried in to see Clara, who was droll while beside her Zevran had his arm in a sling and multiple bruises to the face. “Clara, are you OK?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she shrugged off the concern, not wanting so much inquiry. “Jeez, give us some privacy, will ya?”

Despondent, Grace left the room with Adam, all the while bodyguards followed them in double numbers than they had before. With the news that the Lady Clara had been kidnapped, patrols had increased and the army continued to sweep the surrounding lands to ensure that the kingdom was safe.

“Will she be OK, do you think?” Grace asked her brother.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. The maester will take care of her,” said Adam. “You should have a rest. You look exhausted.”

“I am,” Grace rubbed her eyes.

“Take a hot bath and have some wine to help you sleep. Clara’s protected now no matter what.”

“Yeah…” Grace slunk off up the stairs, back to her private quarters with Mira bobbing a polite curtsey before she followed.

Adam

“Fetch Thomas for me,” said Adam, to one of his bodyguard as he strode the castle corridors, looking neither left nor right as he passed portraits and bowing courtiers and hasty serving wenches.

“My lord?” asked the bodyguard, with some surprise.

“I want him guarded,” Adam turned to the bodyguard. “If these bandits presuppose to take Lady Clara, they may attempt another assault.”

“I have no objection to this, sir, but,” the bodyguard hesitated. “If the bandit leader has been caught, and the king is sweeping the forests - “

“Damnit, what do I have to do to get you to obey a simple order!?” Adam burst out furiously. “Find him. Now!”

“Y-yes, my lord,” bowed the bodyguard, shocked though he tried to hide it, as with his comrades, and hurried off to consult court officials and members of the gallery who might have enlisted his services.

Irritated, Adam continued up to his private quarters. Max was on his way back to the castle with the bandit leader in his custody, Zoe was castigating all her spies for failing to detect the uprising of the bandits while Clara would likely enlist the help of her Crows full-time to protect her. Grace was probably in shock, hoping Clara would make a full and proper recovery.

He burst open through the doors of his private quarters, sending servants and his valet cowering as two bodyguards flanked the entrance while two remained inside with him.

“Where is my lunch?” he demanded.

“R-right here, my lord,” the serving wench hurried to serve a gilded platter of apple pie with cream, pouring grape wine into a filigree goblet.

“I want to change into some new clothes,” ordered Adam, as the valet rushed to assist in helping remove the buckles and straps. “The navy gilded doublet with the tan breeches.”

“Yes, my lord,” the valet helped him change and Adam emerged into the main hall intent on finishing that pie. He turned to his bodyguards. “Sit. Both of you.”

“My lord - “ came their immediate reply.

“Now,” stressed Adam, and they obeyed, gold armor clinking as they awkwardly took seats facing each other. “Fetch my bodyguards some food and wine.”

“Yes, my lord,” the serving wench hurried to assist the cook in the kitchen.

“Now tell me,” Adam peered intently at both his bodyguards, two whom he trusted most for they were assigned to be in his presence at all times. “Have there been any rumours of collusion? Any nasty gossip that might incite open rebellion?”

They glanced at each other in surprise before turning to their liege and replying, “No, your Grace. Nothing of the sort.”

“Because I won’t tolerant dissension, not within my ranks and certainly not anywhere in the kingdom,” Adam took a gulp of grape juice, some of the liquid spilling down his face and wiped hastily away by the valet standing near so that it would not stain the freshly laundered doublet he wore. “You tell your friends that. Everyone in the armory.”

“They have sworn vows of filial loyalty, your Grace,” said one bodyguard.

“They would never think to turn traitor,” the second bodyguard sought to appease his lord.

“Whatever. Well, they better do what is expected of them,” Adam drank more of the wine. “Kidnapping Clara was a grave error indeed. That bandit will pay, mark my words.”

“I believe you, sir,” said the bodyguard.

Adam squinted at him. “You do, do you? Well it’s high time you all learned. Betrayal is the whetstone which sharpens our swords. Heads will roll. Zoe herself has gotten involved, mmm-hmm. She’s a force to be reckoned with. Anyone who attempts collusion in my city will sorely regret their actions.”

“Yes, my lord,” the bodyguards bowed their heads, as food and wine was brought before them. Notably, they abstained from the liquor so as not to impede their performance, aware it was a test from their lord.


	15. Chapter 15

Clara

“Let go of me.”

Clara rose from the maester’s table, glad to be done at last. Zevran watched beadily with his arm in a slung as she gingerly felt the bump on her body, which she had omitted to tell the maester but Zevran was only too efficient to muster. She wanted some air but didn’t want the court outside to see her like this, so she stood at an ajar window looking out onto the gardenia where bees flew past and young boys swung wooden swords at each other amid the backdrop of the colourful flags decorating the joust trials.

“My love,” Zevran moved to embrace her, running his hand over her pregnancy bump. She could feel his injured arm whack against her as it was in a sling. “I am relieved you are alive. My heart stopped beating the moment he took you away.”

“I’m fine, Zevran,” she was sick of his badgering, for the hurt she had endured over the life of her baby had consumed her. She turned to face the maester. “Send for Zoe.”

“At once, my lady,” the maester bowed and scraped away.

Zevran turned to her, worried. “Surely you’re not concerned for the baby’s health? Everything's alright, yes?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out,” said Clara sharply. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her gut and fell to her knees, clutching her stomach. She knew something was wrong. “Fuck! Get Zoe!”

Zoe

Zoe appeared in the wisp of a candle lit on the brazier, shifting out of the shadows it flickered. Zevran jumped in surprise as Zoe pushed him aside to help Clara aloft, murmuring words in a language neither Clara nor Zevran could understand.

“Save my baby,” Clara grit her teeth against the pain. “Save her, damnit!”

Clara felt as though a lot of water was running through her, as though she had drunk heaps and had suddenly void her bowels. Her eyes opened wide and suddenly she felt the ground shift, yet it was whatever was in her belly.

“Help me lift her,” came Zoe’s dark response, and Zevran obeyed.

Prostrate on the operating table, Zevran moved to the side as Zoe delivered the baby that had so quickly arrived. Wailing and crying, the pink-faced newborn was of stark comparison to Zoe’s black hooded robes and ginger hair, pale skin and freckled face as Clara weakly commiserated how quick the birth had been. Zevran gasped in shock.

“What? What is it?” Clara demanded.

“It’s a girl, my love,” Zevran accepted the wailing baby from Zoe’s grim expression and hands.

Clara looked upon her child, feeling nothing for she knew that this wasn’t  _ really _ her child; after all, it was a simulation. But still she felt some fondness for the babe, touching its tender fingertips and cooing in delight when the baby opened its beautiful green eyes and stared in understanding at its mother.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Zoe kept her face stony as she swept out of the room, commanding the guards not to let anyone enter.

She remained in the corridor to wait, considering nothing more important than protecting the life of her friend, and newborn child. She noticed Squall pass in the hallway, offering him no more than a nod as he carried on his way.


	16. Chapter 16

Zoe

“Fucker!”

Each hit was stronger than the next, as Max beat the bandit into pulpy oblivion.

“That’s enough, Max,” Zoe observed from where she stood outside the cell. “I need to interrogate him for information.”

Max spat on him as he passed, bare chested with blood up to his elbows as the bandit sorely eased his broken ribs while Zoe entered the cell with a click of her fingers, shadow through iron as she appraised the bruised man.

“So, you tried to ransom our Lady Clara. What were your motivations?”

“I told you,” he groaned. “For the money. And that cloud city would be a sure bonus.”

“Tell me more, or I'll slit your throat and drain the blood to revive you and do it again,” Zoe lifted him in the air with her magicks, twin blades appearing out of nowhere to hover near his neck.

“Ah - no, no!” the bandit wrestled with impossible magicks to bind his strength. “I’ll tell you!”

“Make it quick or else,” growled Zoe.

“While the castle was in disarray during the search for Lady Clara, I paid one of my spies to do my bidding.”

“What spy? To do what?” Zoe moved closer.

“To find evidence to use against the royals, or in some of their household. Alas, I failed. I never heard back from the spy in my employ.”

“Who? Who did you pay off?” Zoe hit him on the cuff.

“The moment I was taken captive, the spy had orders to keep a close watch on their charge. To strike when the time was right.”

“Who, damnit? Who!” Zoe shouted.

“Mira Forrester,” he spat out a tooth. “She was originally meant to take Lady Grace hostage, but Grace gave her to the Queen to help with the birth. She’s in a prime position to strike, my little dove.”

Zoe angrily drew her fist across the man’s face, breaking his nose and rendering him unconscious.

“Well?” she turned angrily to the guards who stood shocked. “Get out of my way!”

MARIA

Maria rubbed her hands over her belly, delighting in the power and joy that holding Max’s heir within her gave her. Her hair was curled red, she could no longer wear corsets and wore gowns with heavier silk to cradle the baby, but without makeup and finery she still shone like an autumn jewel. In maternity she had softened somewhat, the sun shining through the balcony glinting on her vanity mirror, for even though she had married Max for sex and gold and power, nothing compared to the delight of having a son. She could finally settle down and live happily ever after.

“Tanda, I’m so happy,” Maria told one of her rotund ladies-in-waiting who nodded beatifically as she sewed an honorific for the soon-to-be born son. “My husband the King is so good to me. I would’ve never thought this would - could - happen to me, but…”

“The King loves you with all his heart, Your Majesty,” beamed Tanda, a soft dumpling with her wide dimpled face if ever there was one.

“Yes,” Maria purred, turning to the vanity. No longer was she the shrill, defensive harpie scaling the ladder to stardom. She was happily content, finally earning Max’s love once she bore him a son - 

“My lady,” Mira curtseyed, her slim frame in a forest green gown. “Might I have a word?”

Maria turned to Tanda and nodded, who rose at once and bobbed a curtsey before heading off into other chambers throughout. Maria sat at her vanity, marveling not at her reflection but at the inner happiness which shone and pealed like the bells atop the church tower.

“Yes, Mira?” Maria had occasion to look spectacularly on her handmaid, as she was in one of her rare good moods. “What is it you want?”

“Only this.”

And with that, Mira thrust the dinner knife she held into Maria’s belly, so that she collapsed and convulsed upon the carpet, blood pooling from her body as quickly as Mira fled for the balcony, her duty done.

“G-guards - “ Maria choked.

At once, bodyguards who had been on the periphery of the landing burst in, all too late to save the queen as Mira turned to face Maria, whose face had gone chalk-white while she held the ebbing life below her breasts.

“Y-you… bitch - “ Maria gurgled for life and was still.

“Die, in the name of your King!” the bodyguards ran forth, swinging their greatswords.

But Mira had taken flight, only for a second as a dull thud from below heralded her descent.

Max

Max sensed something was amiss when he reached the landing upon which his private quarters were near, noticing guards spread out everywhere with shrieks and muffled crying and and harried voices.

He burst into his chambers to find Tanda bent double over Maria’s body, eyes wide with shock. Max double backed, having not expected to find this and stumbled on Aveline who leapt to catch him.

“Your Majesty - “

Max lumbered towards his dead wife, the blade having pierced her gut so that there was no question as to whether his son still lived. Tanda backed off so that Max could have some peace with his wife, but he spun on his guards who were ready for their assault.

“Who the fuck did this?”

He upend a chair in his rage and chucked a goblet at Cullen who ducked; smacked Tanda round the face in his rage and punched a hole in a tapestry. Servants and wenches went scurrying from the clangor as Max burst into tears over the lid of his wash basin, unaware he could feel this for a simulated woman who had given him such  _ real _ pleasure.

“Max - “ Zoe burst into the room, seeing with her own eyes the horror that had transpired. She sensed his presence in an adjoining room, coming upon him as he was wiping his eyes.

“Leave me!” he roared with the fury of a lion.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Zoe dragged him upright to a sitting position. “Nothing will make this hurt any less. For now, know that Maria died a happy woman.”

“Revive her, bitch!” Max’s hateful scorn hit Zoe like a lance in the breast. “Magick her better again!”

Zoe stood up, suddenly offended. She walked somberly to the corpse where the maester had arrived to tend to her.

“Leave her,” Zoe commanded, kneeling before the body as the maester bowed and backed away, every watchful as were the nearby bodyguards.

Zoe invoked incantations she remembered from the black grimoire which contained every spell of note, trying to summon Maria’s spirit from the lifeless body which lay in front of her. But nothing came to fruition. She noticed the dinner knife that had been dropped nearby, covered in Maria’s blood. She levitated it with her mind, walking into Max’s chambers.

“Are you crazy - “ Cullen leapt in front of her to intervene, thinking she had gone mad.

The arm he placed on her shoulder became an electrifying shock which tumbled him to his knees, convulsing and unable to speak. She carried on wordlessly towards the bedroom, where she dropped the knife at Max’s feet.

“This will revive her,” she told him. “Can you trust me?”

“What do you want me to do?” asked Max.

“With all your heart as you love Maria, stab yourself with this knife. This instrument that killed her… it will save her as well.”

“What if I die?” his selfish instincts remained.

“You will die as King,” said Zoe, knowing she had to persuade him. “This is for your dead wife and unborn son. If you wish them to live, you must do it. Do it for them, Max.”

Astoundingly, he picked up the dinner knife by the handle. A bodyguard moved to peek inside but with a wave of her hand Zoe slammed the heavy oak door closed and bolted, despite repeated insistent knocks.

“None of them will understand. They will shriek and shout and wonder what black magic was invoked. But you will have Maria back. And your son. What were you going to name him?”

“Diablo,” said Max, face more chalky white than usual. “If it was a girl, Maria would name her. But I never found out.”

He stared at the knife, gripping it with shaking hands. He knew what he was doing was madness, but Zoe was silently infiltrating his mind, willing him to do it, filling him with liquid courage that was essentially magical liquor, to invoke this dark ritual…

“Open up!” shouted Cullen, still indignant. “We cannot leave the king alone!”

With a great gulp Max plunged the dagger into his heart, but instead of harming him it passed through him to transcend his soul, and he felt that of another’s lift in harmony, the dinner knife clattering to the ground yet containing only Maria’s blood.

“Your Majesty!” came several shocked cries from outside.

Zoe helped Max to his feet, opening the barred door with a click of her fingers as Max stumbled into the main hall, where his wife lay barely stirring on the carpeted rug, glancing at him through deathly pallor and sweat soaked curls. In her hands she gripped the blood which covered her gown yet there was no incision when she pulled back her robe to reveal the plumpness of her body, despite many looking away out of politeness yet all knew it was too important not to look, for her body contained the son of a king.

“H-he is unharmed,” Maria looked askance to Max, who knelt to hold her hand in his. “H-how did this happen? I felt my life ebbing away after that bitch stabbed me - “

Hearing her swear made Max happy again and he embraced her with a kiss that was more loving than urgently sexual. Tanda blubbed with pleasure despite the bruise swelling on her cheek, while Zoe glanced out of the balcony where Mira’s corpse lay impaled on a wall spike.

“The Queen lives!” Zoe shouted from the rooftops, her voice suddenly magically amplified so that her words were met with cheers abound. “And so does his son!”

Maria laughed weakly but only as a preamble for the urgent kicking in her belly. “He’s coming! My son - I’m going into labour!”


	17. Chapter 17

Grace

Grace heard a knock on her door and roused from her bed to see Adam enter, with one of his bodyguards. One of Grace’s bodyguards rose from the chair at which she sat, for Grace didn’t mind company and security was paramount.

“I’m sorry to wake you so suddenly. Grace, there’s been another attack. Maria’s been stabbed, but she’s been saved by Zoe.”

“Ohmigod,” Grace was dry eyed. “Who did it this time?”

“Your handmaiden, Mira,” said Adam without blinking.

“No,” Grace stuttered. “She wouldn’t - “

“She was a paid spy in the employ of the bandit leader who took Clara hostage. Initially her task was to report on you, but she took initiative when you ordered Mira to be with Maria for the birth of her son.”

Guilt twinged her like a ship drowning in water. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Adam was quick to reassure his sister. “Mira jumped off the balcony when she stabbed Maria, landed on a spike that impaled her body. She’s gone now.”

“How did Maria survive?” asked Grace.

“Zoe invoked some dark magic, a way to bring Maria and her unborn child back to life. Neither she nor Max will tell me how they did it, but now Maria’s labor is underway and they’re locked up tighter than a tin of sardines in there.”

“I can’t believe - my handmaiden - “ Grace suddenly burst out furiously. “I trusted her, that bitch! All I told her - about Alistair, Clara and you - she must’ve learned a great deal from my ramblings. I’m sorry. Clara and Maria and everyone was in danger because of me. If I hadn’t - “

“It’s not your fault,” Adam repeated, holding her hand. “Listen, for the time being, soldiers are being posted all around the castle. You’ll be safe here. For now, just rest - “

“I’m tired of sleeping!” Grace said angrily. “I need to see Maria! I need to apologise!”

“She’s in the middle of labour. She’s in no fit state to see anyone with the pain she’s in, let alone the trauma of being brought back to life after such a killing. This day has gone on too long. We all need to rest and recuperate. Make no mistake, Max in his capacity as king will ensure this doesn’t happen again. Clara and Zoe are just as adamant, too. We can rely on them to keep things safe.”

“Your Grace, if I may,” interrupted Grace’s female guard who sat in her chair. “They targeted your loved ones. Perhaps you should be with Thomas.”

Adam drew himself to his fullest height for the insubordination and impoliteness of her having eavesdropped to a conversation she was rightly party to hearing.

“I will guard your sister with my life, your Grace,” spoke the bodyguard. “Anything which harms you, harms her. Be with him.”

“Yeah, Adam. Find Thomas and make sure he’s safe,” implored Grace with big eyes.

At length Adam turned and left the room, leaving Grace alone to draw the sheets up to her chin, staring out at the cloudy day with no hope of tomorrow.

Zoe

Zoe watched from the shadows as Maria gave birth, biting and gritting her teeth as she clenched the sheets with her legs spread wide for the maester in between them to deliver the child. With a last, sudden push out came the baby amid a sea of mucus fluid and Max kept to her side, warned by Zoe not to look until the maester bade him to do so.

“It’s a boy, your Majesty!” the maester washed him and cleaned him, wrapping him in soft fabrics so that Maria might hold the child.

She warmed as she saw her child’s face, with the exotic tan of Maria’s but Max’s hazel eyes and shock of dark hair. His tiny fingers reached up to caress those of his mother’s, while Max stroked the little one’s cheek with pride.

“We’ll call him Diablo,” said Max, as the maester shuddered for who would name their child after that of the Devil?

“Your Majesty, surely a most inauspicious name such as this… surely…”

“He will be called Diablo,” said Zoe, walking around the maester to face him with a dead stare. “For no other mortal leapt to claim his life. It is the Devil who restored little Diablo his prominence; him and that of his mother’s life. It is not the Devil you should fear, maester; only the blackness in men’s hearts, that which we have seen today, from both the leader of the bandits and from Mira Forrester.”

“Y-yes, Arch-Mage,” bowed the maester, scurrying off to wash his fluid-stained hands in a bowl of water.

“I will commence an inquisition to ensure that no soldier, servant or otherwise exists within or outside these walls to cause harm to the royal family. Prince Diablo he shall be called and you will not sully his name, nor any in the kingdom.”

“Yes, Arch-Mage. Please forgive me,” the maester penitently, wisely lowered his head to the ground to bow on all fours.

Zoe ignored him with a dismissal and turned to Max who stood proud, Maria glowing and Diablo squirming in her arms, trying to make sense of breath and light.

“Thank you, Archmage Zoe,” Maria wept freely. “Without you, my son would not be born. I would not be holding him in my arms. We owe you our lives.”

Zoe eyed Max. “Follow me. I would have your attention but for a moment.”

Giving Diablo a penitent wave, Max followed Zoe over to the open balcony where wind whipped their hair and a severe drop below gave meaning to the conversation about to happen. Meanwhile, Maria cooed under her baby’s gaze and the maester’s birth tools clinked as he hastened them into his satchel.

“Your baby was saved by black magic. He may need my tutelage as he grows older.”

“What? Why?” said Max, back to his casual insouciance now that all was under control, more or less.

“He was saved by your suicide. I can’t tell you what kind of magicks might inhibit his body. As he grows, I must ensure he does not become corrupted to the dark arts. I wield them, yet in his unstable form he may have flashes and threaten everyone around him.”

“If you want, I guess,” Max looked at his child. “Just remember. You call him Prince Diablo now.”

Zoe turned away from him to stare out the window while Max bounded over with joy to his happy queen wife and peach-faced baby boy.

Adam

Adam burst into his private quarters sending servants scattering to see Thomas sitting at the dinner table, standing upon the Duke’s approach.

“Your Grace,” he smiled, bowing at the waist.

Adam moved to kiss him so savagely he almost buckled. He took Thomas in his arms, who straddled his waist, moving into the bedroom where he slammed the doors closed behind him.


	18. Chapter 18

Max

The birth of Max’s son was known all throughout the kingdom, and nowhere was more secure than the church pew in which the priest anointed Diablo with holy water, to purify Diablo of sin and calm the townsfolk’s nerves.

Max wore gold-plated armor, in a show of strength alongside the multitude of bodyguards and soldiers of the king’s army who seemed to be everywhere, pulling out like weeds the few riotous stragglers who had yet to be found on minor counts of criminal activity. Maria sat beside him, warm and resplendent in a burgundy evening gown, motherhood having taken a toll on her for she had become less the saucy minx and more the concerned mother, for glimpsing her death and that of her child had shocked her to her core. Ultimately the exhaustion keeping her baby fed and safe at all hours would knock any woman out of the bedchambers for marital duty, but it was no secret that Max fooled around with pretty blondes and virgin brunettes and comely dark-haired lasses.

Duke Adam sat beside Thomas, openly his paramour. Lady Clara sat beside Zevran, with little Hikari under armed guard in her private quarters in the castle. Lady Grace sat between the two couples, guilt still rampant for what had occurred though all was now peaceful. Nobody romanced her upon seeing the deathly pallor that hung on the circles around her eyes, nor after the rumour that her handmaiden was responsible for Maria’s injury, though how she had managed to stay alive was the work of Zoe, Arch Mage for a reason whose magicks had saved the life of the queen and newborn prince.

As for Zoe, the crowds had gone wild upon hearing that she had saved the life of the newborn prince and Max had deferred to grant her the title of Countess, notwithstanding his own gratitude. Maria had been insistent herself on the appointment and so it was done, with Zoe receiving lavish private quarters near Maria’s own though she spent all her time in the tower ensuring no further chaos broke out.

“Prince Diablo, the son of King Max and Queen Maria!” the priest cried, holding him aloft so all the crowd in the pews might see, mainly aristocrats and noblemen, all looked over cautiously by the militant might in gold armor at every standpoint.

Clara

With the aid of Zoe’s magic, Clara slept in the castle one evening in the same bed as Zevran and Hikari and found herself awake in the bedchambers of her cloud city, transported so that the journey to the skies would not frighten the baby. The Crows returned to pay their homage, dispirited and dishonored for they had failed in their utmost task to protect their liege.

Clara however had no time for her Crows, as they silently filled in ranks for her protection. She was utmost concerned that Hikari be looked after, so despite the chill that filtered in through the drafty halls so high in the clouds, the baby was healthy and happy, much to Zevran and Clara’s delight.

Grace

Grace lumbered around the castle corridors, wearing an olive gown with her hair curled but lank around her shoulders as she passed the inner courtyard, courtiers and gentlemen sweeping a bow or a nod, “My Lady” they would assent and she would mumble something polite and pass them, with Tanda, Maria’s handmaiden gifted to her to help deal with her depression. Tanda was plump but ever helpful and understood the tactful role she had to deal, under Queen Maria’s directive, to help the Lady Grace feel better for it was not her fault Mira had been a spy, and she had felt so guilty Maria knew in her heart Grace’s concern to be true.

So Tanda waddled behind Grace, who more or less ignored everyone, spurred to take a walk around the grounds while Tanda talked about nothing of substance but tried to raise her spirits. Grace was in the shorter box hedged maze with the scent of flowers overpowering before Alistair stopped a foot before her, nervous and stuttering.

“My lady,” he bowed. “I am sorry to intrude. May we speak?”

“Sure,” Grace bit her lip and followed him, while her gold plated bodyguards kept a close watch from afar, as did Tanda. Alistair drew her to the balcony’s banister overlooking the beginning of Tudor two storied houses and the clamouring cries of the market not far off.

“What is it?” she asked, unsure, glancing up at him.

“I have seen you unhappy for days, and I thought what could I do to cheer you up?” Alistair took Grace’s hand, tracing her palm with his fingers, shaking. “I-it would be my honor, Lady Grace, to be your husband. To take care of you this day and every other day. To bathe you in affection and rest your head at night with safety. I love you, Lady Grace.”

Grace smiled slightly though her lip wobbled and she cried a little. A maelstrom of emotions brought a rise in her.

“I-I don’t know,” Grace turned her head away to blink the tears from her eyes.

“I do,” Alistair brought her gaze back to his by holding her face in his hands. “Say yes. We’ll live wherever you want, have as many children as you want, and for all my days I will stand guard over you and make you the happiest woman alive.”

Grace tried not to giggle but failed, glad to have something to laugh at. Alistair wiped her tears away with his thumb as she glanced nervously at the ground, then at him, somewhat concedingly. “Alright, I suppose.”

“You will?” Alistair’s face lit up in surprise, rapture.

“Yes,” Grace shrugged, as though adding milk to the list. “I’ve done it before, haven’t I?”

“Done what before?” he asked, suspicious all of a sudden.

“Taken a risk, of course!” said Tanda, surprising the two of them by appearing out of nowhere. Her deft and subtle counter made Grace relieved and Alistair baffled, forgetting the misstep that had transpired. “Oh, Lady Grace! I’m so happy for you!”

Tanda wrapped her arms around Grace, to which Alistair got on bended knee, producing an amethyst ring.

“I know it isn’t much, probably not compared with the gifts you’ve received from wealthy suitors or even in your position as sister to the Duke… but it’s the best I have. I promise, when I come into my inheritance, I shall give you all my worldly goods but to have you in my arms.”

“Oh, stop it,” giggled Grace, kissing him suddenly. “I’m not marrying you for gold, Alistair.”

Even Tanda had to laugh nervously at this. Alistair lifted Grace in the air where she whooped with joy, the sunlight glinting off her amethyst ring.


	19. Chapter 19

Max

Max cavorted his newly born heir as much as possible as he grew into childhood. Diablo had a shock of black hair, an unending intolerance for anything that wasn’t sweet and sugary and made much of a mess in his diapers to the utter disgust of the servants who tended to him. He was rambunctious and sly just like his parents, while Maria was free to dress up in more elaborate gowns with rubies glittering over her newly trim figure while Max bestowed gift after gift upon his son, from a wooden sword engraved in gold filigree to a meek pony trained so that Diablo could learn horse riding from early on.

Clara would often drop Hikari at playdates with Diablo, for the Prince was Hikari’s cousin and together they would make meek folly and antagonise one another as children were oft to do. On the days spent without Hikari, she would ride through the forests with Zevran at her side, purchase fancy gowns from ateliers or visit Zoe in her stark cold chambers.

Before long, Maria was pregnant again and Max rejoiced the news for all the crowd to hear and cheer. Maria stroked her belly with knowing superciliousness, herself pleased that she had born the king an heir so that her position would be stable forever, notwithstanding the love she had begun to acquire in his presence, and that of her affinity towards her son, the Prince of the kingdom!

Grace

Grace married Alistair in a lavish wedding with her closest friends and family, wanting a private wedding with his stone jawed father, meek slim mother and younger brother and two sisters in attendance opposite the pew where the royal family sat; King Max and Queen Maria, Lady Clara and Zevran, Duke Adam and Thomas, Countess Zoe and Squall.

They emerged from the church where doves flew and the townsfolk rallied behind barriers kept watch by the town’s guard, while they took a wheelhouse into the upscale district of the kingdom where the most prized homes were to be found, two- and three-storied Tudor homes with wide balconies and ivy climbing the columns, large rooms and windows so that sunlight might pour in, attended to by servants and surrounded by gardenia sweet-smelling and lush. Although Alistair was heir to his father’s fortune, he would not come into it until his father’s death and so he lacked the necessary funds to buy it, but Adam granted it to Grace in his capacity as second-in-charge. Blissfully, Grace set up home with a variety of furnishings, carpeting and decorations, including a nursery for when that fateful day came when she would fall pregnant. In the meanwhile, Alistair worked from home handling his share of his father’s business, whom was noticeably silent during the wedding, glad his son had made a suitable match albeit one who was stunningly richer than he.

Grace spent her days buying baby clothes for when the baby would arrive, as well as gowns in purple and blue and golden silk so that she could look pretty to Alistair, who still fumbled and bumbled nervously in her presence, overawed each day that she had agreed to spend the rest of her life with him.


	20. Chapter 20

Clara

Clara sat in the nursery wing of the castle, largely staffed with servants but entirely of guards who kept watch over the future heir to the kingdom. Crows littered the corridors outside, for as part of their pledge they would not allow baby Hikari to be harmed, either.

Clara wore a green gown and drank wine from a goblet as she watched her blonde-faced baby play with her cousin, Diablo. Diablo had a mean streak while Hikari was stubborn like her mother, so the two often clashed and had to be moved to separate rooms entirely.

“This wine is off,” Clara handed the goblet to a stuttering servant. “Get me a different one.”

“Y-yes, my lady,” off the servant hurried, into the kitchen or larder.

Clara moved to the arrow slit window where the span of the countryside met her eyes. Somewhere Zevran was off traveling, part of the king’s expedition that was led to exterminate would-be bandits and usurpers from living in hiding. So far there had been no murmurs of trouble, not after the vicious campaign led by Max when his wife and child had nearly died, and Clara had been kidnapped.

The bandit leader remained in chains in the dungeon, long since exhausted of his wit and stamina. He had been tortured plenty under the supervision of Zoe, for his acts in parlaying with treason and subterfuge. Though Max had wanted to hang him, Zoe suggested keeping him alive as a subtle reminder to the populace that there were fresh horrors awaiting those who dared to test the king’s patience.

Clara glanced up as Maria entered, a vision in red and gilt silk with her curls bouncing around her neck where a wreath of rubies hung. All servants bowed or curtsied, guards nodded in salute while Clara merely coldly remarked in greeting: “Hello, Maria.”

“Lady Clara,” assented Maria smoothly, moving to sit beside Diablo and swirling her skirts attractively around her.

Diablo rose to cradle his mother, whom she hugged tightly and inhaled his sweet baby smell. Hikari waddled towards Maria, arms outstretched but Clara strode the length of the exquisite rug and took her in her arms.

“Time to go, Hikari,” Clara wiped a measure of snot from Hikari’s nose.

“You’re going?” Maria rose, bouncing Diablo in her arms. “Will you not stay the night? Your quarters have been prepared and there is a roast duck waiting.”

“Mmm, I suppose,” Clara deferred, noting how similar Diablo looked to both his parents.

Inside her apartments which were as lavish as the king and queen’s save for some minor alterations, Clara entered the walk-in closet where all of her gowns and jewellery were kept, as such finery was nonsensical to hold in the cloud castle. Ladies-in-waiting borrowed from the court hurried to help her change into a red gown trimmed with gold lace, tying her blonde hair into an elaborate chignon. Clara selected a gold amulet and one of the handmaidens fastened it around her neck, while another applied delicate rosewater to her neck and wrists so that she would smell pleasant for the dinner.

“What would you like Zevran to wear, my lady?” asked one of the handmaidens. “When he returns from the forest, of course.”

“The green tunic,” she said, and the handmaiden nodded in obeisance. “I want Hikari looked after while I’m gone. If she cries, fetch me.”

“Yes, my Lady,” said the handmaidens, curtseying low as she swept out of the room.

Grace

Grace had been invited to the dinner as they all had, a sumptuous feast served in the king’s private quarters. She wore a lilac gown with white piping and a wreath of amethyst jewels at her neck, with Alistair at her side in a tight, fussy doublet with white frills. Opposite her sat her brother, Duke Adam, in a gilded doublet sitting beside Thomas, curly hair and unshaven jaw wearing a brightly blue doublet with a chain of sapphires upon it.

Max sat at the head of the table, served first and solicitously by the serving wenches who refilled his filigree goblet of wine and placed platters of figs and cheese before him for the roast duck was all but demolished by his insatiable hunger. Maria sat indulgently to his right, while Diablo squirmed and clattered food as he clumsily attempted to wield the fork which had been embossed with his initials. His governess who stood behind him wore a nun’s habit and wiped his face, picked up his utensils and helped feed him whenever he couldn’t manage the feat himself.

Clara sat opposite her brother, with Zevran on her left. She wore the red gown that had been picked out earlier, with Zevran in the forest green doublet. His tanned skin and pointed ears made him stand out.

“Where’s Hikari, Clara?” asked Grace, munching on the thick crust of a blueberry tart.

“She’s sleeping,” replied Clara, droll.

“Oh,” said Grace, returning to her meal.

“When are you two going to have children?” Clara turned to Grace and Alistair, reaching for her goblet to drink. Grace looked to Alistair who looked shamefaced.

“We - uh - we have been trying to conceive for some time, my Lady,” stuttered Alistair. “Alas, the gods have not favoured us with his grace.”

“Maria got pregnant the first time I fucked her,” lied Max, to dry amusement and hidden smirks from the soldiers behind their visors.

“My love, that is not so,” Maria nibbled on his earlobe, to open dissatisfaction from Clara and Adam.

“Yeah, that’s obvious,” replied Clara, not stymied.

“The first time I  _ properly _ fucked her,” Max leered at his queen. “Other than that, pretty much all we did was anal - “

“Ew! Gross!” came Grace’s immediate reply. Her husband Alistair looked scandalised.

“That’s disgusting, Max!” said Adam.

Clara merely shook her head, used to her brother’s vulgarities.

“Yeah, like you’re some fucking virgin, cocka,” Max turned to Adam. “You two probably fuck all afternoon.”

Adam had the good grace to be embarrassed, while Thomas went red and fiddled with the food on his plate with his fork.

“Come on now, Max. Stop talking of this shit,” said Clara. “Where’s dessert?”

Out from the kitchen came several serving wenches, all under Maria’s watchful eye for more than one reason. Platters of honey cake were served onto everyone’s place setting, Max tucking in the moment the baked pastry came into contact with his hands while Diablo received a lesser serving, so as to not assault his palate with sugary foods and hype him up before sleep.

“Are you gonna marry, cocka?” asked Clara, turning to Adam.

“We haven’t talked about it,” said Adam, stymied and not wanting to look at Thomas.

“You should,” Clara ate a piece of pie, savouring the honey taste. “It’s not like it’s illegal here.”

“Maybe,” Adam turned to Thomas, unconcerned. “We’ll talk about it later, though. Thanks.”

“Alright,” said Clara, not mollified.

When the feast was finished, Grace rose to leave with Alistair quickly by her side, and the gold-plated soldiers not far beyond.

“Can I ask you a question?” asked Alistair.

“Yeah. Sure,” said Grace, as they walked down the corridor, noticeably absent and quiet during the evening.

“Do you think the gods are punishing us by not allowing us to have a child?”

“No,” said Grace, stung. “We just have to keep trying, that’s all.”

Alistair’s hand crept around hers as they entered their private quarters together, and the heavy oak doors slammed closed behind them as two golden soldiers flanked either side.


	21. Chapter 21

Clara

Clara dismissed the handmaidens, unclasping the gold amulet around her neck herself as she washed her face and got into bed with Zevran. The night air was cool coming in through the open doors of the balcony as she snuggled in bed next to Zevran, missing the quiet of the cloud city.

“My love, is everything alright?” asked Zevran, playing with her hair.

“Yeah. Why?” asked Clara, glancing up at him.

“You look troubled,” he smiled at her.

“You always say that,” she said, drifting away in her own thoughts as he kissed her forehead and fell asleep before she could.

Max

After fucking her from behind, Max collapsed on the bed while Maria moved to the ensuite to clean up before nestling in his arms.

“When do you think the baby will come?” asked Max, leaning on his elbow as he gazed up at the ceiling.

“Whenever the gods see fit to deliver him to us,” spoke Maria in her Mexican accent. She giggled. “You worry too much, my king.”

“Ride me like one of your horses, then,” he grinned, as she obeyed and climbed on top.

Adam

“What do you think about marriage, my lord?” grinned Thomas, sitting on the bed while Adam unfastened his doublet.

“It’s a nice thought,” smiled Adam, turning to him. “But I don’t need the elaborate proceedings to profess my love to you. Having you here is enough.”

“It wouldn’t be a sin,” Thomas moved to embrace him from behind, unfastening Adam’s breeches and snaking his hand within as Adam gasped. “This isn’t a sin. Our love isn’t a sin.”

LOGHAIN

Loghain reared up outside the forest, with the castle walls in sight. By his side was Morrigan, on a black courser whose eyes glowed black.

“You’ve helped us this far,” he told her. “Now finish the job you started.”

“With pleasure,” she told him, morphing into a dragon and heading towards the city.

“Men!” he cried, as soldiers wearing plate mail snapped to attention, holding swords and shields, bows or spears. “March!”

Trebuchets and battering rams followed in their wake, wheeling on the ground as the dragon let out an unearthly cry, breathing fire from its mouth to light up the night-starred sky.


	22. Chapter 22

Adam

Adam awoke with a start.

“What was that?” Thomas stirred from his sleep.

“Nothing. Go back to bed,” Adam ordered, rushing to the balcony. Ahead, a dragon swooped low over the city and he winced against the flame which scorched the peasant’s houses and the docks. “Guards!”

In hurried gold-plated soldiers in service to their liege.

“Fetch the Lady Clara and Grace and their husbands. They must be rushed to safety at once.”

“Yes, my lord,” they hurried off at once, while a few remained to guard the duke.

“Thomas, put this on,” Adam chucked a fur lined coat at him. “Follow me. Guards, this way.”

Adam burst into the royal chambers, just as Max had finished securing his plate armor and Maria had wrapped herself in a fur lined robe which swept the ground.

“I’m taking the others to safety. Zoe - “

“I’m here,” Zoe walked out of shadow, to appear by Max’s side. “Go.”

Adam nodded, looking to Max who was grim and heading towards the agreed upon point where they would be most safe. He rushed down the corridor and towards the portrait of the dragon, touching the outline and faintly materialising on the other side, with Thomas and the bodyguards a little out of sorts. He met Clara with Zevran and Grace with Alistair there, bawling Hikari in the former’s arms. Zoe’s rooms were barely lit with tomes scattered.

“What’s happening?” Clara demanded.

“A dragon’s attacking the city. Worse, there’s an army on the march. Max has ordered us to escape to your cloud city.”

“What?” Grace was in tears. “But Maria - the baby - “

“He has demanded Maria and Diablo stay in the castle with him,” said Adam.

“Typical,” Clara rolled her eyes. She turned to the painting of a city atop clouds, murmuring an ancient language Zoe had taught her so that a shimmering portal appeared. “How the fuck does he plan to defeat a dragon?”

Together, they warped at light speed into the cloud city, in amazement and splendour for even at night with the lights twinkling below of the mortal kingdom and the dragon’s fire but a blip on the landscape, danger was rife but here they were safe.

Zoe

Zoe stood beside Max as he exited the castle, surrounded by bodyguards but more so by his army that had filtered into strategic positions under the commander.

“How the fuck do we fight that dragon?” asked Max.

The dragon had burned most of the peasant homes to the ground, townsfolk screaming as they were burned while town guards did little to hinder the dragon’s progress for their arrows did little damage against the dragon’s thick hide.

“I will kill it,” said Zoe, morphing with difficulty into Diablo from FFVIII. She took off into the sky with a resounding shriek, heading straight for the dragon who snarled and blew flame at her which she rebuffed with her wings.

Max

Meanwhile, Max led the charge against the impending army. His men filed in rank as he manned the city walls, as trebuchets fired flaming rocks over the city walls and battering rams shook the city gates. Archers disposed of the soldiers from afar yet their numbers were wilting until Max reinforced them with his own army.

Clara

Clara stood in the bedchamber of her castle, having delegated a single guest room for the others to share, seeing as there was little accommodation on such short notice.

“Where are the Crows?” she asked.

“They have surrounded the castle, my love.” said Zevran. “No dragon will get far without falling to their arrows.”

“Pfft. Like they could kill it,” Clara glanced down, over the balcony where the dragon and the she-devil Zoe fought it out.

Grace cooed over the bassinet where Hikari was held, waving her arms for she had been frightened by the abrupt departure which had interrupted her nap.

Suddenly, a Crow who stood guard outside the door burst into the bedchambers without warning, his eyes and mouth lolling as he spoke in Zoe’s voice:

“The dragon sends a fireball! Escape through the portal!”

Sure enough, Clara glanced down the balcony and saw the dark wings of the demon, flapping hurried menace that was the dragon and a fireball like a comet coming too soon.

“What are you waiting for!?” Clara hurried for the shimmering portal conjured next to the recovering, nonplussed figure of the Crow.

Grace picked up Hikari on instinct and hurried for the portal, the first and only to reach it before the fireball crashed against the castle city and the portal dissolved. The castle began to crumble and shake upon the uneasy land it now stood, furniture flying across the wall and corridors dislodging like the upended Titanic.

“Find the Pegasi!” Clara shouted.

She led Adam, Thomas, Zevran and Alistair through the corridors of her castle which were blackened with smoke and ash, down into the grounds where the Crows had saddled several Pegasi. Adam took one with Thomas on the back, Clara rode another with Zevran on the back, while a Crow rode another so that nervous Alistair might not fall off.

“Go!” screamed Clara, as the three Pegasi whipped their wings, soaring through the air in a sudden descent to avoid the cloud city which began to fracture, piece by piece, leaving the Crows stranded atop it as pieces fell from the sky, where the Pegasi just managed to swoop out of the way as an errant piece of castle marble structure struck Zoe the demon and Morrigan the dragon both, sending them plummeting.

“Aaaah!” came Alistair’s fearful shriek.


	23. Chapter 23

Grace

Grace leapt through the portal into Zoe’s dark chambers, surprised to find it had dissolved behind her with Hikari bawling in her arms.

“Clara?” she whispered, hearing shouts and battle clangor, flames and unearthly disturbances all around her as the castle shook. “Alistair?”

Grace gentled Hikari’s cries as she glanced out of the arrow slit windows of Zoe’s tower, where the enemy army was encroaching upon the castle city’s walls. Greater in number, the trebuchets had set houses aflame while battering rams made mincemeat of the iron gates. Soldiers atop battlements or crenellations fell to arrows though they took out a great deal of the enemy in return, while the city gates swarmed with friend and foe alike.

She glanced up in horror, seeing the clouds shifting somewhat, the visible menace that was the scaly dragon and Zoe the demon battling it out before what looked like a chunk of rock from heaven bashed them into nothingness before smashing down upon the forest not too far from the castle city.

Grace hurried down the spiral steps and out of the portrait hole of the dragon, into a richly carpeted corridor with another arrow slit window at one end, wooden doors that had been barred and filled with quivering servants in case the castle was ransacked, all the while the castle shook with dust, almost trembling in anticipation of the fight ahead.

Grace hurried up to the royal quarters, where a retinue of gold-plated soldiers stayed behind to protect Queen Maria and Prince Diablo with their lives.

“Let me in!” she begged. “I’m all alone with Clara’s baby!”

Reluctantly they assented, opening the oak doors. Grace burst into the dining hall, where the table had been set on its side where Maria crouched, clutching bawling Diablo in her hands.

“Maria!” Grace exclaimed, bending to hug her. “Are you OK?”

“M-my husband,” she gasped, her accent coming in strong through her fear. “Is he OK? How is the battle faring?”

“I don’t know,” said Grace honestly, not wanting to mention the destruction of Clara’s cloud city either. “Is Diablo OK?”

“He is crying, but he will be strong, a prince in his own right,” Maria looked at him through her tears. “And I am the queen. Where are the others?”

“They-they got stuck in the cloud city,” said Grace, realising what had happened to her friends. Without warning she burst into tears, adding to the clamour of the two children who were frightened beyond knowing.

Adam

Adam dismounted from the Pegasus, as did Clara and Zevran, while Thomas and Alistair remained mounted so that they could fly into the castle and to safety. The remaining Crow stood with them, arrow notched to his bow as they snuck through the forest, having seen from above where the army was being commanded from and picking an opportune time to take out their leader.

“I’ll kill that son of a bitch for destroying my home,” said Clara through gritted teeth, bow at the ready.

“Easy, my love,” said Zevran, a dagger in either hand. “He must pay, yes; but you must be alive to tell the tale to young Hikari.”

Adam held a sword given to him from the Crows’ armory; he had not had much practice with it, but damned he would be if he did not help his friends to survive.

Overhead, another piece of the castle city fell, largely into a lake which splashed with great resounding force.

“This sucks,” said Clara, creeping closer to the encampment where the stoutest flags were planted.

Surrounded by tents heralding the enemy’s sigil, there was a campfire where a band of soldiers patrolled, looking after their leader’s tent during his absence fighting on the mainland.

“He’s not here,” observed Adam.

“Really? You think?” Clara shot him a sarcastic reply. “Let’s steal some uniforms. If we get close enough we can kill him.”

“I shall do the honors, my love. No offense, but I am better trained for this,” laughed Zevran in an undertone, creeping before the camp.

Before long, Zevran returned with a single outfit of clanking plate armor.

“I could not take more without alerting the guards, unless I try again, yet,” Zevran glanced behind him. “I fear there is not much time left. I overheard the soldiers telling one another that their commander, Loghain, has taken the city, and soon they will take the castle as well.”

“Even if we kill Loghain, that doesn’t mean the kingdom is saved,” said Clara sourly.

There was a demonic cry from above as Zoe swooped awkwardly low with her injured wing over the battlefield, clawing and biting with any troops she landed upon. They scattered and nearly routed from fear, but Loghain’s presence on the battlefield kept them in line.

“I’ll kill him,” said Clara, mounting the lone horse who had previously been a Pegasus. She put the plate helmet over her face, slung the bow over her back and glanced down to Zevran. “Torch the camp after I leave.”

“Be safe, my love,” Zevran blew her a kiss as she galloped in the other direction.


	24. Chapter 24

Max

Max looked around at the chaos caused by Loghain’s army and roared, smashing his warhammer into another hapless knight who had tried to get past his bodyguards. So far, the enemy had torn up the alleyways and buildings of his kingdom, fighting well to the drawbridge of his castle. His bodyguards were well trained, but Loghain had 1.5 times the number of men he did.

“Zoe!” he roared. “Do something!”

Albeit she was, causing havoc and inspiring fear in the enemy troops, but with their multitude of arrows she had to close her remaining wing to protect herself, limiting her ability.

Suddenly, Loghain’s troops came on the rise, like rats spilling from a sewer they cut into the front line, sending them flying as Max’s bodyguards scarcely kept them at bay.

“Your Majesty!” cried Aveline. “You must retreat to the castle!”

“Yeah right!” snorted Max, sweat and blood mingling to induce adrenaline in his panic. “I’ll kill every fucker - “

A stray arrow flew out of nowhere and hit Max in the shin, so that he buckled and went down. Aveline dragged him to his feet, while Cullen stepped in front to take the death blow meant for Max and held off his attacker.

“Go! Take the king to safety!” cried Cullen over his shoulder, gritting his teeth as he glanced off the strike from a second soldier only to fall from the sword thrust of a third.

Clara

Clara rode hard and fast on her steed, hoping that the lack of ornamentation on her horse would not give her away. She wore the required uniform of Loghain’s soldiers yet she may as well have stolen a ranch horse for how it looked.

Ahead Loghain’s army was on the march, walls crumbling and houses ruined while Zoe shrieked above, pelted by more than her fair share of arrows. She raised her hand so that a glowing dark orb appeared above it, blasting it into Loghain’s army before the final onslaught of arrows took her down. Roughly two thirds of Loghain’s army was obliterated before Zoe plummeted to the ground and crashed in parts unknown.

Clara rode through the destruction Zoe had caused, riding past countless dead bodies bearing Loghain’s sigil while plenty were of the kingdom’s troops. She bolted into the city, past crumbling walls and ruined horses, squealing pigs and few townsfolk who quivered in stables, up to the courtyard where the joust grounds were torn asunder, Loghain was mounted on an armored horse ringed by ten knights his number, staring at the castle whose foundations had begun to crumble, while mailed knights slew the remainder army and shrieks and blood curdling cries came from inside.

Angrily Clara drew her bow and notched three arrows, firing just as a warning shout came out of nowhere. One hit Loghain’s bodyguard in the shoulder, another hit Loghain in the breastplate while another took out his horse, who whinnied and bucked him off before dying.

Knights surged out of nowhere on foot and on horse; Clara bolted before they could catch her, hoping it had bought the army inside some time. Cursing that she had missed Loghain’s cocky grin despite wearing a visor, her horse skidded as a pikeman thrust his spear into Clara’s horse and down she went, only to be surrounded by several soldiers thrusting swords at her neck and belly.

“Surrender!” they cried as one.

Clara realised as the king’s sister she would likely be left alive, held to ransom which gave her the minute opportunity of escape if she played her cards right. However, there came a great cry as arrows pelted the soldiers, momentarily distracting them as Zevran and Adam rode up on steeds, the former taking out soldiers left and right with his blades as did Adam, awkward in stolen steel plate but somehow managing to keep the soldiers at bay.

Clara leapt to her feet, grabbed the sword of a fallen soldier and held her own, backing into a three-pronged circle with Zevran and Adam as more soldiers advanced on them still...


	25. Chapter 25

Max

Max sat heaving beside Maria, Diablo, Grace, Alistair and Thomas, all corralled inside the king’s chambers while what remained of his gold-plated bodyguard assembled outside the doors, brandishing greatswords against the impending threat.

Servants were slain left and right, maesters and monks left gasping for breath as bloodied wounds left them over arrow slit windows, statues cracked or toppled over, rafters and tapestries in flames, the stone floor splattered with crimson blood.

“Shit,” cursed Max. “How the fuck did they manage to get in?”

“We are overrun, your Majesty,” came the labored breathing of Aveline.

“Do they mean to kill us all?” asked Thomas, tremulously.

“They would kill us all, so that the royal bloodline would perish,” stated Maria, trembling despite her grave tone. “I won’t let them have Diablo. Not as long as I live.”

There was a great shudder, then suddenly shouts and steel clashed in the corridor outside. Everyone tensed, the womenfolk and children and Thomas ducking behind the table. Alistair had borrowed a sword from King Max’s own collection, for he would defend his wife.

“Bring it on!” he cried. “I will protect you, your Majesty.”

Max merely gripped his warhammer tighter and ignored him, as the thuds and shouts came quiet outside. Inside, four bodyguards surrounded King Max more closely, though it was clear he intended to fight.

“Aaaaaah!”

Suddenly the doors burst open with a great clamour, and in burst no less than twelve knights, the remainder of the charge that had taken the castle. Thirty or forty remained outside under Loghain’s command.

Four was no match for twelve, slain even with Max bashing in a few heads and Alistair got some jabs in.

“Grace, go!” cried Alistair, his swordsmanship nothing compared to that of trained knights whose cuts made Alistair’s stomach bleed glistening ribbons upon the rich rug.

“Maria, take Diablo and get the fuck out!” shouted Max, crushing the soldier who had killed Alistair, glancing a hit off a second and wounded by the strike of a third, damaging all three fatally before a fourth hit made him stumble and a fifth knocked him flat on his face.

Grace

Grace hurried through the lavishly appointed rooms with Hikari in her arms, behind Maria who clutched wailing Diablo with an almighty temerity. Thomas hurried behind, bolting the door while Maria lifted the rug, revealing a trapdoor set into the stone ground.

“This will take us to the sewers,” she said, unbolting the fastenings and lifting it with a great creak so that it slammed against the wall opposite.

“Can we take the children down there?” Grace was pasty-faced and out of breath, while the soldiers bashed against the door to break it open.

“We’ll have to!” Maria’s fiery spirit rose up in anger, taking the spiral steps down as fast as she could, while Grace followed in her steed. However, she heard the trapdoor swing close but Thomas was not behind her.

“Go, Lady Grace!” came his muffled voice from up top. “Protect the queen!”

“No! Thomas!” Grace’s shock was open, for Thomas had used what little time he had left to secure the rug atop the trapdoor and armed himself with a candlestick, using what little time he could manage to divert the oncoming guards.

“Come on!” Maria urged, having no compunctions as she continued lower into the castle.

Whimpering, Grace followed Maria into the depths of the castle, lit at uneven distances by torch sconces, where a sickening smell met her nose as they skirted to avoid the waste collected from the chamber pots.

“Eeughw,” Grace followed Maria who seemed to know where she was going, while the babies’ wailing made it impossible to assume they were moving stealthily.

At length, they came upon a narrow chute where the remainder of the sludge seemed to be seeping, into a narrow canal filled with waste and sludge and god knows what else.

“The babies!” exclaimed Grace. Distantly, she heard footsteps and the sibilance of steel far off. “Shit! They’re coming!”

Uneasily, Grace slipped down the chute, her gown covered in muck and goo too disgusting to describe. She landed in the canal, the water barely helping to rid her of her rising hysteria. Outside, the sun shone brightly as Maria’s picture perfect curls and red gown were defaced by slime, with a speck on Diablo’s forehead. Grace winced; she had twisted her ankle when she landed in the knee-deep river.

“Let’s go!” Maria urged her on.

Maria hurried across the plain meadow to where the castle walls interlocked, accessing a side door which was padlocked and emerging into a meadow filled with flowers and tall trees. Bees buzzed as though the war had not ravaged their minds as it had Grace’s.

“We’re safe, for now,” said Maria, breathing heavily and trying to calm Diablo. “We can only rest for a moment.”

“What do we do now?” panted Grace, exhausted. “There’s no army left. Max’s been taken alive. Where are the others? Where’s Zoe? Wh - “

Maria gave her a harsh slap which only served to shock her into action.

“Focus! If anyone survives today, it will be our children. We must assemble quickly to evade Loghain’s forces. Likely the rest of them are dead. But I will not see Loghain take my child away - nor will he take Hikari! Both are of royal blood!”

“But if Loghain takes the castle… he will be king!” gulped Grace.

“Don’t be stupid! This was a massacre today. Loghain does not intend to rule; he has killed the populace in a single fell. There is no glory to be won today.”


	26. Chapter 26

Max

“Look at this mess,” Loghain contemptuously walked into the former king’s apartments, noting with scorn the black-eyed, bruised mess that was Max straining against his constraints and spitting to no chagrin at Loghain’s feet.

“Needs a tidy-up, that’s all,” sniggered one of Loghain’s bodyguards, causing an outbreak of laughter and good will necessary to the war effort which had cost them nearly all their men.

“Quiet. I will not have celebration until after this battle is won,” Loghain looked to Max. “Here he is. The usurper of my kingdom. Tell me, how did it feel being crowned such a shitty populace such as this? The moment I saw your flag hoist above the crenellations I began immediate preparations for war. You however saw more merit in feasting and jousting than for defense, as you rightly learned.”

“Fuck up. You’ll never get my wife and son. They’re far away, where you can’t touch them.”

“I don’t need to touch them,” Loghain sneered. “They’re inheritors of a blackened estate. They may have run away on foot, but my mounted forces will catch up with them. Make no mistake, my men are very good. We’ve even got some of your forces as proof. Bring them in!”

Max glanced up from his bound state upon the bloodied rug, watching Loghain’s guards bring in Clara, Adam and Zevran, all roundly bruised and battered. Clara’s hair was cut and her teeth were missing; Adam’s arm had been broken and his leg bled from an open sword wound, while one of Zevran’s elf ears had been sliced off and he had been punched so badly one of his eyes had ruptured.

“You sadist fucks. I will get you back for this. I fucken swear it, you - “

Loghain moved and kicked Max in the teeth, so virile in his hate and anger he yelled coarsely until another kick in the ribs sent him silent.

“The bandit leader we found in the dungeons… he was one of my men,” said Loghain. “The handmaiden who deceived you all along, Mira… she was the daughter of one of my noblemen. Good family, too… willing to do whatever it took to take down this bastard name who had taken the throne. Heh, king?” Loghain turned to Max with impudence. “I will crown you with the bones of your friends.”

Max slowly shook his head, power rising from somewhere imminent.

“Diablo… Diablo…” he began whispering, as though some mantra had possessed him and his eyes began to grow black.

“What? What?” asked Loghain, mockingly. “Your son is no more! Your wife is no more! By the end of my progress, he will be fed alive to the ravens and she will be raped by every man in my unit! Now, what shall I do with your sister, your Duke and the elf?”

Max felt his heart pumping abnormally hard; he glanced down and saw its veins coursing the chest hair and muscles now that he had been removed of his steel plate.

“What the hell?” Loghain took a step back, wishing he had Morrigan to counsel him. “What is this? Cut his heart out and feed it to him!”

Max glanced up at him, suddenly ape-like as he pulled out his own heart, beating in his hand as he rose, constraints melting off him like butter as the guards around him plunged their swords into him, but they sunk into the abyss that was his formless void, his very life essence oozing as he drew on the power that was his son’s still beating heart, the dark link which kept him alive as he reached for Loghain and tore off a strip of his cheek flesh before melting and dissipating into disarray.

Shocked beyond all belief, Loghain managed to stand though numbly caressing the lost cheek. He began laughing, beyond all reason as his men joined in too. He spat at the pile of ashes which floated in the wind and out of the open balcony.

“Hah!” He swung a steel coated boot through the ashes which sunk into the rug like so many black, glinting ants. “That’s all you got?”

He bent his head back and roared with laughter; his men joined in for seeing this abomination do so little to their leader meant he was surely unstoppable, untouched by the dark arts that had conjured here.

“Bastard,” whispered Clara, lying prostrate on the floor, barely able to breathe.

“Quiet, you,” said Loghain, tossing her a kick as one would a stray dog. “Had my men had the good courtesy to leave you unharmed, I might’ve taken you as wife. As it is… you’ll do no good for me at all. Have at them, boys.”

With that, the soldiers swung their swords and plunged their blades into Clara, Adam and Zevran, too comatose and weakened and frail to be lent mercy or else show any resistance as their blood spilled onto the rug and stone floor, seeping through the cracks like their life…


	27. Chapter 27

Zoe

Zoe feebly rose from the ground, almost completely overwhelmed and surprised she was not dead. Only the forces of her magick had kept her alive, but at the cost of her demon body she was now just a mortal, magick glimmering at her fingertips like the ash Max’s body had become. She had sensed his lifeblood waning, as with Clara and Adam and Zevran… and not long before that Thomas and Alistair…

She could hear Maria and Grace’s heartbeats pounding in her ears, along with that of Hikari and Diablo. The castle had been lost, the war was Loghain’s to triumph, but still, the son of Max lived and that was enough to ensure her continuity, though there was no kingdom left to rule.

At length, she managed to avoid the remainder of Loghain’s army who had savaged the battlefield, searching for survivors both ally and enemy, and followed the scent of lifeblood which led her to a meadow, where Maria and Grace knelt to wash the babes who had soiled themselves in their fear.

“Poor babes,” Zoe said to herself, for her mind was cracked like a mirror. “They know not what they face.”

She glanced up to the castle, where the flag of Loghain was hoisted high above the ramparts and crenellations. She cast her mind back to when prettied and perfumed ladies danced in the ballroom, mouthwatering feasts of chicken and pig and gravy poured over vegetables, the joust where squires clanked steel, handing swords to sweaty knights grateful for a second round to best their opponent…

“Zoe.”

Zoe turned with a start, startled to see Squall leaning against a tree, rested with his arms folded. His leathers looked intact while his Gunblade featured the trigger accoutrement that would’ve otherwise drawn attention to the feudal citizens of the kingdom. Despite his warm presence, he looked out of place and untouched by the ravages of Loghain’s army, as though watching on the periphery.

“Squall. I need help,” Zoe lumbered towards him, stumbling as he bent to catch her.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said, still monosyllabic and avoiding her eye. “There is much to be done. But first, a sacrifice must be made.”

“Huh? What?” Zoe turned to him, unbidden.

Squall turned his attention to those across the small meadow, who as of yet hadn’t noticed Zoe watching them. Maria’s hair was still clung to with slime, while Diablo was messy but glad to be soundly safe in his mother’s arms, no longer frightened by the panic in her voice. Grace was distinctly sludged and messy, panicked beyond belief when Maria had told her that her friends were dead and there was likely no easy life to be found.

“You must end it for them,” said Squall, gently. “You are to be chosen for reincarnation.”

“What - who are you?” Zoe pushed him away all of a sudden, and he laughed, his face a mask which slipped off to reveal a darker embodiment within.

“I am nowhere and everything. I am the commander of time. Ultimecia.”

“Ultimecia?” Zoe gabbled. Vaguely she was aware that her voice would carry to alert the others, but when she glanced at them she saw them as though misted by a fog only she could be shrouded within.

“I must pass my gift onto another, that of Time Magic,” Ultimecia leant out with her long fingernail to lift Zoe’s chin to face that unyielding force that was her face. “You will resurrect anew. Your friends will be in your care. Do not do anything to upset it this time.”

“Yes,” said Zoe, realising the slim advantage she had been given. “But - but what about them?”

Zoe glanced at Maria and Grace, collecting their kin and setting off towards the edge of civilisation, mountains and peaks where surely they had no hope of settling.

“They will perish in the wilds... “ Ultimecia turned to her with a wicked smile. “You must be the one to end it.”

“What about Loghain?” Zoe stormed angrily. “If you are as powerful as you say - “

“You would have me do what?” Ultimecia simpered, reading her mind. “Revive your friends? Rebuild your kingdom? Kill Loghain and torture his buddies until they cry out in pain?”

“Yes, yes, all of it and more!” Zoe exploded with anger. “You pretended to be my friend, Squall, but you’re the most powerful goddess of time! You could fix this!”

“It is not for me to fix,” said Ultimecia in a ghostly voice. “It is your choice to go back in time and fix this. Fix this… chaos,” Ultimecia gestured towards the ruins of the kingdom which Zoe need not remind herself with. “It begins with the witch Morrigan and ends with the tyrant Loghain. Her influence shielded his army from view, losing you the upper hand.”

“Even if I do as you say, Loghain has two, three times the army we have! Where did he muster such a force?”

“In the time since the king’s coronation, there was little emphasis placed on war and so the people enjoyed a bountiful harvest compared to that of one ruled by military might. Make no mistake, your people will pay the price if you are so foolish as to let this opportunity slip through your fingers. This time, child…” Ultimecia glided towards her, the smirk easy on her red lips. “Listen and learn, as I have, all these years… to become the perfect embodiment of time.”

With that, Ultimecia glided listlessly through Zoe, into her very core and soul so that she saw things as clearly as if she were within a snowglobe, buffeted by the troubles of the present but able to glimpse, the outer world around her with snatches of real understanding…

Zoe/Ultimecia swooped upon the four-strong trio before they could raise a hue and cry. With swift strikes, she ended Maria’s life with a slash of her talons, slit Grace’s throat with her nails, and pounded the babes into dust with but a stamp of her clawed feet so they would not suffer. She felt the smoking abyss that was her moral centre dwindle and dissipate into nothing, as the very world around her began to shift…

Then doubled over suddenly with the regret and guilt of what she had done, though no memory had served to remind her of it until civilisation was built around her, the throb and hum of livelihood and activity, and horrors bent her mind until she realised who she was, looked in the mirror in her tall tower which had been miraculously repaired as though - but - she had gone back in time - and now, looking in her reflection she saw the distinct outline of Ultimecia laughing in her very soul at her, Zoe, the poor girl who had been too naive and self serving to see what was coming…

She heard the rustle of cloth before she saw it, a hooded courier all in black, one of her spies. She recognised him as the man, surely eons ago who had helped her in so many ways… yet how was he here? How was she here?

“Arch Mage?” he asked, suddenly concerned. “I have a report, if you are willing.”

Shakingly lowering her hand to the desk to gain some balance, she glanced up at him with a feral nature to distance herself from the panic induced from that vision, which had seemed so real…

“Well?” she barked, hearing the throb of heartbeats similar to hers all over the castle, Max’s vulgarities and Maria’s embrace, Clara’s stern admonitions and Zevran’s syrupy sweet affections, Adam’s iron-clad refusal and Thomas strumming his lute, Grace’s high-pitched fever upon seeing the perfect dress, Alistair’s nervous gaze to his father when presented with yet another potential bride with a dowry to marry, and Squall, nowhere to be found since  _ she _ was Squall-Ultimecia, aware of all things both past-present-and-future, looking into the eyes of the hooded courier who glanced back, unaware. “Give me your report, then. It better be good.”

**THE END**


End file.
